


How Shall I Extol Thee?

by starknight



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Post-Apocalypse, Amnesia, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Crowley is Good With Kids (Good Omens), Explicit Sexual Content, First Kiss, Getting Together, Heaven erases Aziraphale's memories (Good Omens), Heaven is Boring (Good Omens), M/M, Memory Loss, Oblivious Aziraphale (Good Omens), Pining, Podfic Welcome, Post-Apocalypse, Sad Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-09 18:44:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 30
Words: 29,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20999561
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starknight/pseuds/starknight
Summary: Armageddon happened yesterday. And it was all Crowley’s fault.Now the earth has a 7 year timestamp. 7 years of trial and tribulation. 7 years, like the world is on some fucking egg timer. And Crowley is stuck there.Aziraphale wakes up in Heaven. It is full to the brim of celestial harmonies and green grass, which does nothing to change the fact that Aziraphale can’t remember anything. Still, Adam has ensured that everyone is happy, and will continue to be. Forever. Aziraphale knows only his name, and that is enough.Isn’t it?





	1. Aziraphale 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [yngwer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/yngwer/gifts).

> First of all, some acknowledgements!  
To my betas, [tomatopudding](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tomatopudding/pseuds/tomatopudding) and [handlebarstiedtothestars](https://archiveofourown.org/users/handlebarstiedtothestars/pseuds/handlebarstiedtothestars) ([tumblr](https://handlebarstiedtothestars.tumblr.com/)), a huge thank you, not just for your help in improving my fic but all your encouragements!  
To emptymasks and littlelynn, who co-ordinated this mini bang, thank you so much for all your time and hard work!  
To the /r/Good Omens discord server ([join us](https://discord.gg/goodomens)) and the Good Omens Big Bang server (watch out for when we post in January!), thank you thank you thank you for all your wahoos and encouragements, not just for this fic but just in general. You're all lovely and amazing people.  
And of course, the BIGGEST thank you to the lovely artist for this fic, yngwer ([instagram](https://www.instagram.com/yngwer/), [tumblr](https://yngwer.tumblr.com/)). I could quite literally cry about how wonderful your art is, and I can only say I am so honoured just to have inspired it. THANK YOU <3 <3 <3
> 
> And now... the aforementioned art! (see?? Isn't it incredible and lovely?! I am in so much awe. So. Much. Awe.)  

> 
> Also I know this is absolutely not everyone's jam, but I just had to make a playlist for what I imagine Heaven's atmosphere to be. So if that's what you're into, well... [ here you go!](https://open.spotify.com/playlist/2BssYTzumuchPN4Zasn74Q?si=FehL-yDeQWacu7Ew7MzEPA)
> 
> And now without further ado, you may proceed to the actual fic. I so hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing. <3

Aziraphale couldn’t tell you where he was, but it was certainly lovely. 

Green pastures flooded out before him, the sun catching on each delicate blade of grass. Wildflowers were popping up out of the earth with luscious petals that licked the air around them. They bobbed about, seeming to wave hello to the world. The sky had been painted blue, Aziraphale noticed, light and lovely at the edges but a more intense cerulean in the centre when he craned his neck. 

The earth flowed around him in little dips and rises. Aziraphale was sitting at the top of one of the small hills. His limbs were covered by something long and white and flowing, a standard issue heavenly robe. He smiled in bliss. Somewhere nearby, the chirping and burbling of a brook began to sound.

Aziraphale lay back onto the cushion of green grass and closed his eyes against the fresh sunlight. He let its rays warm his body. Gentle harp music began to emanate from the sky. Aziraphale’s smile grew as the harmonies washed around him like a hundred different colourful currents, all unique and glowing in their own way.

Aziraphale knew only his own name, and that he was happy. And that was enough.


	2. Crowley 1

Crowley felt his head pounding before he regained consciousness. It was the flat brick wall kind of headache, too, nothing like the pleasant drowsy ones he used to get after sleeping for a week.

The fighting had seemed to go on for fucking ever. Crowley hadn't been able to tell which way was up, or down, or left, or Aziraphale. He could only watch as the bodies flew around him, some limp, some still fighting.

Crowley felt a light breeze gust across his face and something gritty come with it. Sand? They'd ended up in Megiddo at some point. Or was it Australia? It had been orange and too hot. It was still too hot now - Crowley's body was complaining at him.

He'd never been good at waking up. There was never much outside of bed that seemed worth getting up while you were in it. He was not in bed now - the shards of something digging into his back testified to that. Still. Crowley did not want to wake up, and so he kept his eyes closed.

Sounds, though, couldn’t be blocked out so easily.

He could hear someone crying, very far away, barely audible over the empty howling of wind. Was it more than one person? Crowley wished there were sunglasses for ears. That way, he might be able to dim out the sounds that reminded him exactly what had happened.

He felt his face screw up as he thought about it all. The boy - Adam. He'd been so young, and he hadn't looked very evil at all, until the power made his eyes glow red. He couldn't help himself. Not when Crowley and Aziraphale had been too late to do anything. Crowley wondered vaguely if the boy had lived through it all. He'd looked so small and breakable.

A shuffling started nearby, and then someone else was crying, except it was far too close for Crowley to ignore. He took a long breath in through his nose, and let it out through his mouth, and opened his eyes.

Grey. Everything was covered in grey; the ground, the bodies, the air. Smog and dust and ashes. Crowley was vividly reminded of static on old televisions, and he blinked rapidly.

The continued sobs broke him out of his reverie. He started violently, and saw a figure hunched over a little way away. He took tentative steps towards them, trying to keep his vision above the horizon, trying, trying, oh god, the bodies, he wouldn't make it -

"Stay away!" the man shouted at him in Hebrew from his kneeling position. "You - you did this to us. To my - my Yehonatan.” His voice broke. “Don’t come any nearer, devil!”

Crowley had received several punches to the gut recently, and did not require another. He backed away a step, holding his hands up. The man was shaking like a leaf in the wind.

“I’m sorry,” Crowley murmured, too quiet for the man to hear. “I’m sorry.” 

It was his fault, wasn’t it? He’d delivered the Antichrist, so obedient to Hell, no fucking questions asked. Why was that the one time he hadn’t asked questions? And even then he’d screwed it up, lost the Antichrist, invested far too much time and effort into a perfectly ordinary human child (oh please,  _ please  _ let Warlock be safe), and hadn’t managed to sort it out in time.

Crowley let himself look down at the bodies that littered the plain around him. Humans, angels, and demons alike lay on the ground. Bright white feathers had lost their glow, dust collecting in divots. A leathery talon lay abandoned over a woman’s shoulder in a sick caress.

_ Look, _ he told himself,  _ look at what you have done. _

Crowley looked, and looked, and wished he could forget himself.


	3. Aziraphale 2

Aziraphale had had an exceedingly pleasant day. 

He had basked in the sun for a good long while, then wandered over to the river to bathe. The water had been mild, the perfect reprieve from the perfect sunlight one never really needed a reprieve from. He had basked some more on a perfect, smooth rock. That had taken him through until about teatime, which was when he had met some of the other angels. They hadn’t known what teatime was, either. 

What they  _ had  _ known was that everyone was to meet on the Flat Lawn at once. Aziraphale, who had never yet ignored an instruction, tagged along with them. Once at the Flat Lawn, which looked much like most of the pleasant grassland that made up the New World except flatter, Aziraphale was drawn to the side by a tall angel with striking lavender eyes.

“Aziraphale,” the angel said. “I trust you have had a satisfactory day.”

Aziraphale nodded. “Yes, it has been very pleasant. I’m sorry, but who are you?”

“Oh, good, it worked. You can address me as Gabriel. The Archangel.” Here the angel - Gabriel - drew himself up even taller, so that Aziraphale had to crane his neck to make eye contact. “You, Aziraphale, committed many sins in your past life. As a result, you have been allowed a fresh start.”

“A fresh start?”

“Yes, quite. None of that extra baggage weighing you down, hmm?” Gabriel bared his teeth.

“What extra baggage?” Aziraphale looked around for the suitcases.

“Memories! Six thousand years of them, actually, my, you must be feeling like a spring chicken. Well, now, I’ve got to be off, angels to address and all that - just remember, stay on the straight and narrow this time. Oh, and your rank is the _commonest_ of angels, just in case you were wondering. Nothing special, no swords for you. Ciao!” Gabriel slapped Aziraphale on the shoulder and strode smartly off. 

“Ciao…” Aziraphale echoed faintly. Six thousand years? He wasn’t quite sure how long that was, but it couldn’t have been terribly important, if they’d taken it all away. He was only a common angel. They, whoever they were, wouldn’t go to all that trouble just for him.

The Divine Address had taken quite a long time, what with prayers led by the Dominions, motivational speeches from the Virtues, some quick training exercises with the Powers, and addresses from all seven Archangels. The sun had set and risen three times by this point, and it was just beginning to dawn once more. 

“Brother, sister, let me serve you,” sang everyone around Aziraphale. He blinked open his eyes hurriedly, and opened his mouth as they continued. “Let me be as Christ to you...” Aziraphale had apparently been allowed to retain his memories of the hymns, and was able to join in. As the hymn trailed off, so did the surrounding angels. Aziraphale let his feet wander aimlessly, his soul blending and voice harmonizing with the others’. It was lovely to feel such a  _ part  _ of something.


	4. Crowley 2

Crowley spent three days at the battlefield. Three days exhausting his powers burying the casualties, continuing to bury them by hand while he let his magic build back up, and repeating. The earth of Megiddo was rough and disturbed by the time he finished his work, angels, demons, and humans alike kept safely in the ground.

He planted a philodendron in the middle of the plain, nodded at it once, and turned on his heel to leave.

Flying - Crowley glanced back at his ruined wings and grimaced - was out. It’d have to be on foot, then. He sighed, and started towards the nearest hill. Once atop he screwed up his eyes, not used to the world without his sunglasses, and tried to remember the landscape. The problem was, landscapes could change quite a bit in two thousand years. 

“Aziraphale?” he asked the air quietly. A bit of ash flew into his mouth, forcing Crowley to cough. He spluttered for a few seconds, before clearing his throat and trying again. “Aziraphale!”

Oh, it was too loud, too desperate. Too real. But he couldn’t not try, could he?

_ “AZIRAPHALE!” _ he screamed. 

And just like that, it was real.

Crowley’s voice didn’t work after a day of shouting. His throat was coated in ash, and only a hoarse wheezing would come out. “Aaaa-ziiii-ffffff,” he managed. “Uhngk.”

Well, if his voice wouldn’t work, his legs still could. Crowley set himself to wandering.

On the first day, he found a puddle that reflected light onto a cliff in the shape of a halo.

On the second day, he found a pear-shaped cloud, and thought of Aziraphale.

On the third day, he found a lone avocado tree.

On the fourth night, he realized the constellations had mixed themselves up.

On the fifth day, he saw a bird. It was dead.

On the sixth day, he found a wasp nest. Three of the wasps were still buzzing. He left well alone.

And on the seventh day, because of course it would be the  _ seventh _ day, Crowley found Beit El.

It had been ruined before Armageddon, of course, and now resembled little more than a pile of dirty bricks. Only one structure had maintained some integrity. Crowley limped towards it as fast as his calloused, blistered feet would take him. He ought to miracle some shoes into existence, but he didn’t really feel like depriving himself of the punishment.

He’d ended the world, after all.

The building was in relatively good shape, considering everything. Crowley ducked through the entryway, thankful for the dimness inside. He hadn’t had the heart to miracle up a pair of sunglasses, either. The brick was cool against Crowley’s outstretched hand, colder than anything he’d touched in days. 

It was unnatural.

Some of the roof was missing, where a small alcove had been built into one of the walls. A ladder was set up against the wall.

It all  _ looked  _ very unassuming.

Crowley went to the ladder and ran his hand over the rungs. It stung. He looked up at the light, and winced. Why did Heaven have to make their lights so bloody bright? Talk about wasting power on -

_ Wait _ .

Heaven.  _ Heaven. _ Aziraphale would be there, wouldn’t he? If he’d - if he wasn’t -

_ He’s not dead, _ Crowley told himself,  _ and you are going to get your ass in gear and go and find him right this minute. _

Crowley ascended the ladder, screwing up his face as the familiar smugness of a holy sting echoed through him. The world rippled as he climbed, the ladder extending further and further until clouds engulfed him and he was crawling out onto solid ground. Crowley flopped onto the too-green grass, soft and inviting. For the first time since the War, he couldn’t smell death on the wind.

“Aziraphale,” he mumbled, suddenly bone-tired and exhausted to his core. “Aziraphale.”

And despite his best intentions, despite being in new and entirely hostile surroundings, Crowley fell asleep.


	5. Aziraphale 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> __  
Would you know my name  
If I saw you in heaven?  
Would it be the same  
If I saw you in heaven?  


Aziraphale wandered through a little valley. Little, because there were no hills more than a few metres tall. He supposed it helped to be able to see everyone, but it would be nice to get a bit of a view. An outlook. Feel the wind ruffle his hair.

It had been a week since the first Gathering, and Aziraphale wasn’t entirely sure what they were supposed to be doing with their time. He had spent a few hours in quiet prayer, building his spiritual relationship with God, but God didn’t seem very inclined to have any input on the matter. Aziraphale had given up and instead gone to sleep next to the river.

He had been walking for the last few days, though his feet didn’t feel any different than when he’d started. Aziraphale thought that if he walked in one direction long enough there  _ must  _ be some kind of change to the landscape. It wasn’t that Heaven was less than satisfactory, of course, but Aziraphale was curious to see if it ended.

And it wasn’t like there was anything better to do.

He lifted his head to the sky and revelled in the fresh scent that rose from the ground. He was so intent, in fact, that he didn’t notice the slumped figure in front of him until it was too late.

“Oh, dear,” Aziraphale said from his new position. It came out a little muffled on account of his face being pushed into the grass. “Oh, I am sorry, I didn’t see you there.”

“Whassit…” a voice emanated from somewhere. Aziraphale pushed himself onto his knees and dusted his robes.

“Hello?” he tried tentatively. The figure was curled up on its side, wings sprawled awkwardly out over the grass. An angel? Aziraphale hadn’t seen anyone with black wings yet. Aziraphale had never seen black wings,  _ or _ wings with so many holes and tears in them. What else could they be, but an angel, though?

“Unnngh,” the angel moaned, rolling onto his back. He lifted his head and looked around blearily. Aziraphale gave an awkward little wave.

The angel’s eyes - not like any eyes Aziraphale had ever seen before, but he wasn’t one to judge - widened, and then he threw himself at Aziraphale.

Aziraphale thought perhaps he should move out of the way, but then the strange angel was hugging him, clinging to him, gasping for breath, whispering his name. How did he know Aziraphale’s name?

“Er,” he said awkwardly. “Sorry, but who exactly are you?”

The angel froze and pushed away from Aziraphale, tilting his face upwards.  _ What an interesting and beautiful face. _

“You - you don’t remember me?” the angel whispered. 

Oh, dear. Aziraphale hoped this wasn’t going to happen all the time. “No. Oh, dear, I’m really very sorry. You see, my memories were all removed before this - er - New World.”

The angel stared at him. And stared. And stared.

“Oh, angel,” he said eventually, and put his head in his hands. “Aziraphale. You really don’t - shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit,  _ shit.” _

Aziraphale felt his heart fall into his stomach, and his ears began to ring. “Good Lord, that really is no way for an angel to behave. Such befouled language, as I have never heard!”

“Oh, angel, no,” the angel groaned. “Not this again…”

“Again?” Aziraphale asked, curiosity piqued despite himself.

“It took four thousand fucking - oh, sorry - years for you to get used to my swearing last time. Bloody Hell.”

Aziraphale put a hand over his racing heart to try and calm himself. He had known this stranger in his last life - that had to count for something.

“Who are you, then?” he asked again.

The angel blinked his strange, shining eyes. “My name is Crowley,” he said.

“Crowley.” The name tasted strange and heavy on Aziraphale’s tongue. Like - like honey? He’d never eaten anything, of course, and so he didn’t actually know what honey would be like on one’s tongue. The idea had just popped itself into his head. “And how well, exactly, did I know you?”

“Oh,” Crowley said, “Well enough. We were - friends, I suppose you’d say.”

Aziraphale considered the angel’s shaking hands, his wavering voice, and the embrace he had pulled Aziraphale into upon seeing him. He had not seen a great many displays of emotion during his New Life, but he was relatively certain that these signs were not good.

“Are you all right?” he asked gently.

Crowley looked at him for a long moment. He seemed to steady a little. “You are, and that’s the important thing.”

Aziraphale frowned. “You seem to care quite a lot about me.”

Crowley smiled at him. “Yeah, well. I’m just glad to see you alive, angel.”

“Why do you call me that?”

“Well, you’re an angel, or have you forgotten that too?”

Aziraphale frowned. “That’s like calling a human  _ human, _ or a dog… well, Dog.”

“I’ll stop, if you don’t like it.”

“No, no, it’s alright… Hm.  _ Angel.”  _ Aziraphale chuckled at the sound. “Did I call you that, too?”

Crowley’s eyebrows did something complicated. “No.”

“What did I call you, then?”

“Crowley. Just Crowley.”

“Alright then, Just Crowley.” They both laughed. The sound reminded him of the chirping brook he’d woken up next to.

“So,” Crowley said, the colour starting to return to his face. “What have you been up to?”

“Oh, nothing really,” sighed Aziraphale. “Truth be told - er, no, actually, I better not.”

Crowley’s lips turned up into a smirk. “Go on. I won’t tell.”

Aziraphale considered that. He had obviously trusted Crowley  _ very _ much in his past life. Would it be unfair if that didn’t carry over into whatever life they had now?

“Well,” Aziraphale whispered, looking around for other angels and leaning closer to Crowley, “It’s all a bit dull. Boring. You know… flat. Literally. There are  _ no _ hills here.”

Crowley’s face lit up in a way that Aziraphale had never seen a face accomplish before. Curious. Aziraphale filed it away carefully for later.

“Oh, angel,” drawled Crowley, “They haven’t started playing  _ The Sound of Music _ yet?”

“Oh, yes, they play it on the overhead - you know, the sky - once a day.”

Crowley laughed again. It was infectious. “I don’t suppose you’d like to try something else, then, angel?” he asked.

Aziraphale frowned. “Something  _ else _ ? But what else could there possibly be?”

“The Old World. It’s very interesssting, you know. Lots of hills and ssstuff.”

Aziraphale considered. It  _ would _ be nice to go somewhere with hills - but, oh, he couldn’t leave Heaven! He’d lost all his memories of the Old World, and really, if that didn’t speak to its forbidden nature, he didn’t know what would.

“No,” he said. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Oh, come on, angel,” Crowley said, leaning towards him. “I bet they don’t even have food here…”

“And what would I need food for?” asked Aziraphale.

“You loved it, you know, back on Earth,” Crowley said. “Sssimply ssscrumptiouss, you used to sssay.”

Aziraphale felt his forehead crease. Why was Crowley trying to persuade him so? And why was he speaking so strangely? 

“I’m going to go back to the others,” Aziraphale said. “I’ll see you around, then. Mind how you go.” He got up and marched past Crowley, in the direction of the Flat Lawn.

“Wait, angel!” he heard a cry behind him. Aziraphale glanced back.

Crowley held up his hands in an apologetic gesture, and Aziraphale smiled at him. His feet begged him to turn around, but he kept walking.

Even when Crowley’s beautiful, playful smile haunted him all the way to the other side of Heaven.


	6. Crowley 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _  
I must be strong and carry on  
'Cause I know I don't belong here in heaven  
_

“Shit,” Crowley muttered, watching the angel walk away from him. It wasn’t fair. It had been such a small temptation. Teensy-weensy, Aziraphale would have said. The old Aziraphale.

He imagined asking the angel to the Ritz two weeks ago. Aziraphale would’ve said something stupid like _ temptation accomplished! _ and they would’ve had a perfectly lovely time toasting to all their favourite things. 

_ Raindrops on roses and whiskers on kittens… _ The refrain echoed from somewhere Crowley couldn’t see, lurching him out of his thoughts. He kept silent, swearing internally, very aware of the Certain Doom that would await him were he to be caught here. _ Bright copper kettles and warm woollen mittens… _

Crowley dropped down to his elbows, crawling over the grass towards a nearby bush. The singing was getting louder now, _ brown paper packages tied up with string, _ and he reached his cover just in time for the angels marching by to finish the first verse without spotting him. The bush was scratchy on the inside - major design flaw - but he held tight, knees wrapped up to his chest.

He watched them pass, flowing robes giving way to bare feet. They stopped a little way off, and he swore again. Internally.

“It’s around here somewhere,” one of them was saying. They were dressed in a lavender robe, with a silky golden sash draped over their shoulders. “We don’t have to actually go down, just sort of check up every few days.”

A very short and fat cherub had dropped to their feet, and was feeling around in the grass. He appeared to have found whatever it was he was looking for, because he gave a small _ a-ha! _ and lifted up a little disc of grass. 

The smell of ash and death wafted over to where Crowley was hiding. He scrunched up his nose. 

The lavender-robed angel didn’t so much as stoop to their knees, peering through the hole from standing height. “Good enough,” they concluded, and the little cherub covered it up again.

“How long until it self-destructs?” an angel in pale pink asked. 

“Seven years precisely. I don’t think we’ll get many more humans after that - most of them are dead, and the ones left will be certain to turn to immorality.”

The three angels nodded sagely at one another, and took flight.

Crowley let out a breath he hadn’t needed to hold, and emerged from the bush. He kept low, though, creeping to the little patch of grass and dropping through the gap hastily. It wouldn’t do for him to get caught, really.

He was down the ladder before his mind started to catch up with him.

Really, Crowley thought as he sank against a cool brick wall, he’d done very well. He hadn’t cried - well, not _ really _\- and he hadn’t given up his position and he hadn’t yelled at Aziraphale and he hadn’t protected Aziraphale, oh God, he hadn’t protected Aziraphale…

It seemed a cruel trick of fate that Aziraphale wasn’t even really gone. Just his memories, his attachment to Crowley, six millennia of time and effort and friendship. His essence, his soul, it was still there. But Crowley knew - he _ knew _ it wasn’t the same. It couldn’t be. Not ever.

“Aziraphale,” he said helplessly, talking to no-one but the angel in his memory, “I’m so sorry. I wasn’t - I wasn’t there. You needed me, and I lost you. I’m - I’m sorry.” He choked on the words, a lump forming hard and heavy in his throat. “I never told you.” His voice cracked, but he had to say it, just once, didn’t he? Even if it was too late. It would always be too late. “I never told you - I - oh, Go - Sa - Angel. I love you.”

Crowley looked at the grey clouds gathering through the hole in the roof. They were all swimmy. _ Oh, _ he thought. _ I’m crying. _ He didn’t feel any need to remedy it, so he sat there, and watched the clouds foment, and cried.

A few hours had passed when Crowley saw the figure. It arrived at the door, and stood there, watching him. He wasn’t terribly bothered by it, being rather occupied with his grief.

The figure - a human - walked inside after a few moments. He could feel their eyes on him. Well, let them stare. Crowley kept crying, adding in a few good hiccups and sobs for dramatic effect. He hoped they would feel uncomfortable enough to take the hint and leave him alone.

The human did not leave. Instead, they crossed the room and sat by his side. He felt a scrap of fabric being pushed into his hand, curled loosely at his side.

“Are you okay?” a voice asked in Hebrew. Crowley sighed, resigning himself to the conversation, and wiped at his eyes with the dirty cloth he’d been given. He turned to face the human.

A child. She couldn’t be more than nine or so.

“I - wha - are you alone?” Crowley asked.

“My friends are outside,” she said quickly, her brown eyes widening.

“Good,” he said. “Thanks for - well.” He handed her back the cloth.

“I, um, I wanted to ask something,” she said. Her hands were pulling at her grubby t-shirt.

“Yes?” sighed Crowley.

“Do you know my mums?”

“Your mums?”

“I haven’t been able to find them,” she explained, her nose screwing up a little. “Not since all the big stuff happened.”

“The big stuff,” Crowley muttered. “Right.”

“Do you know them?” Her eyes were wide and hopeful.

Crowley couldn’t take on anyone else’s grief right now. He just couldn’t. “No.”

“Oh. Well, can you help me look for them?”

“What about your friends?” Crowley asked. The girl moved towards the entrance, and motioned for him to follow. Crowley reluctantly got up and trailed after her.

Her friends were children. All of them. Crowley felt his heart melt, freeze over, explode into a thousand little shards, and eventually settle into a semblance of what it used to be. 

“Hello,” he managed.

“Hello, sir,” said a very tiny one. They couldn’t be more than four. “Were you crying?”

All eyes were on him, and despite himself, Crowley flushed. “Yeah. I’m better now, though. Look, don’t any of you have - you know - parents?”

“They’re back at camp,” the eldest girl spoke, jabbing her thumb over her shoulder. “Do you want to come with us?”

Crowley considered the little ragtag group, and the deserted, broken village surrounding them. It wasn’t like he had much else to do, was it?

As they walked, the girl who had first talked to him took his hand in hers. “I’m Netanya,” she said, smiling up at him. “Now that you’re with us, you won’t be so sad anymore, right?”

Crowley, who had always had a bit of a soft spot for young humans, softened. “Hope so.”

“What’s your name, _ Adoni* _?” Another voice piped up on his other side. The tiny child.

“Crowley.”

“That’s _ weird.” _

“Why, what’s yours?”

“Orli.” Orli then proceeded to take his other hand, leaning heavily into it. “I’m tired, Adon* Crowley.”

Crowley sighed, but not audibly. He could feel his heart being signed away entirely without his consent. _ Take it, _ he would have screamed, had he not been around many impressionable young children. _ I don’t need it anymore. _

“Piggyback?”

The soft warmth of Orli clinging on wound its way through him. For all his best efforts, his heart warmed. Crowley wished he could have told it to do better, to learn its lesson, _ you just got broken, you stupid, stupid thing. _

_ Ba-dum, ba-dum, ba-dum, _ his heart thumped back as Orli lay his little head on Crowley’s shoulder. _ You care, you care, you care. _

_ But why do I have to care so much? _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Translation:  
Adoni/Adon - Sir/Mister


	7. Aziraphale 4

The thing that Aziraphale had forgotten, amidst the excitement and drama of Crowley’s visit, was that the Flat Lawn was the most boring place he’d ever been.

Every day, a different group of nuns or monks would be allowed to visit. Every day, they would walk around with their cups so full of awe they spilt over, their mortal heads bowed low, never making eye contact with any of the angels, some falling to the ground and weeping in ecstasy.

Aziraphale hated it.

He didn’t like the feeling that his rank was bigger than him somehow, that being an angel was A Big Deal. Aziraphale was just - Aziraphale. He wasn’t worth much, or at least, he didn’t think so. He would quite liked to have  _ talked  _ to the humans that came to visit, and find out all about the Old World. Particularly about food.

He couldn’t say what it was that spoke to him about taking organic matter and putting it into his mouth, making his teeth go up and down all over it, and then swallowing. It  _ sounded _ like a perfectly horrible mortal process. There didn’t seem to be an awful lot to gain from it, and yet… Aziraphale did wonder why they didn’t have any food in Heaven.

He asked as much of Gabriel, who was standing at one of the corners of the Flat Lawn, looking very important and impressive with his light purple wings on display.

“It distracts from our worship of God, Aziraphale,” Gabriel had reprimanded him. “How can you be virtuous if you succumb to basic mortal pleasures?”

And there was just no answer for that. Aziraphale had nodded and smiled, hoping the curiosity didn’t show too much on his face, and tried not to worry at how displeased Gabriel seemed. It was only a question, wasn’t it? He’d half been tempted to ask a second question - about Crowley and how exactly he fit into the hierarchy here - but was dissuaded by Gabriel’s icy reception of his first.

Crowley.  _ Crowley. _ There was just something about his name. The ‘o’ sound was so - so - oh, he didn’t know what it was. He whispered the name to himself as he meandered about some newly discovered fields of long grass, wildflowers brushing up and under his robe almost to his hips.  _ Crowley. Crowley. _ It did seem familiar, didn’t it? Was he remembering familiarity right?

It was fascinating, really, the effect he’d had on Aziraphale. Now that the angel was gone, he couldn’t stop thinking about his face. His mouth, which hadn’t been so extraordinary in any way, just a mouth, and yet. Aziraphale’s thoughts fixated on it. The way it opened. The way it moved. The hint of a dark pink tongue he’d seen when Crowley laughed. The way his hair had caught in it, just for a second, while they were talking, and Crowley had had to lift a hand to it to brush the hair away.

His hair, now Aziraphale came to think of it, was also enlightening. It didn’t feel so much like the ‘o’ sound of his name. It was a decadent sigh of pleasure, rippling about his head, the sheen waving about like the lightly shimmering grass Aziraphale walked through. 

He was beautiful. Most angels were, objectively. There was nothing strange about that. Wasn’t there something strange about Crowley? His eyes were one of a kind for sure. But there was something - something more than that. His limbs had moved like they were very bendy branches in a very windswept tree. He had been so wonderful and interesting and vibrant, his voice pouring over Aziraphale in the way he had thought prayer might feel like before he’d tried it.

Oh, but he was being ridiculous. Their conversation had lasted - what? Two minutes? Three? 

_ He knew you before, though. _ That must be the source of all these worries, his mind subconsciously recognizing the angel. That was normal, wasn’t it? It was normal to think about how the angel’s hair would feel on his fingers, wasn’t it? To want so badly to reach out and  _ touch? _

Aziraphale let his hand trail over the tips of the grass around him, the fluffy grains at the end dispersing into the air as he touched them. He closed his eyes and let the serene and Heavenly peace wash over him. This obsession could not be. He could feel himself becoming more and more curious. Those memories had been taken away for a  _ reason _ . A reason he was not beholden to. Had he been this curious last time? Was that what got him? 

_ Let it fade, _ he told himself, and allowed his thoughts to flow away on the breeze, the field rippling and shuddering in their wake.  _ Let it fade. _


	8. Crowley 4

The camp was primitive. Apparently, all the houses of the world had been knocked flat. Apparently, that was a thing that happened during Armageddon. Crowley couldn’t help but question that - why the  _ fuck _ would they just happen to knock down all those houses, but leave the building materials lying around? Why would they kill so many humans, go to all the effort for  _ near _ extinction, and then leave the rest down here for seven years? 

_ The great fucking blasted plan,  _ he thought to himself,  _ too ineffable even for the Almighty Herself. _

He’d awkwardly introduced himself to the adults in the camp - honestly, he was much better with the little humans than the big ones - and settled himself into a makeshift lean-to against what was once a perfectly respectable brick wall. The woman in charge here, Eliana, had taken him in with no questions, given him a couple of holey blankets, and told him that if he wanted to stay he had to help out.

And that was that.

Crowley would never fail to be blown away by humans. He had been perfectly prepared just to sit and cry for a few centuries, but here they all were, getting on with their lives. So organized, so well-meaning, they just - Armageddon happened, and they just carried on, building up, building their lives into something better than they had to be. And here  _ he  _ was, having brought the bloody Antichrist (Someone curse his name) into the bloody birthing hospital and bloody well started it all.

Crowley helped mend some blankets and clothes the next day. One of the kids taught him how to darn. Once he’d gotten the hang of it, he even stopped miracling the thread through the needle. Once he’d fulfilled that moral duty he allowed himself to go on an extended moping session about the desert.

He found himself back at the entrance to Heaven within the hour. Crowley wanted to pretend at being surprised, but he couldn’t be, really. His heart, now also belonging to the camp children, longed for Aziraphale. His smile. His laughter. Even if it wasn’t really  _ him  _ anymore. Maybe he could persuade -  _ Oh Hell, _ thought Crowley.  _ Let’s not go down any rabbitholes right now. Focus. _

And he did focus. He focussed very hard on climbing the ladder and popping out into Heaven and looking for Aziraphale. There weren’t many angels about, thank God - or - well, yes, probably God. It was nighttime here too, the stars bright and dazzling against a deep velvet sky. Crowley didn’t get to see it very much as he half-crawled between the little rises and hid out in scrubby bushes looking for Aziraphale. 

There were no spots on any of the leaves. Crowley tried not to think about why that made him so enormously sad. And yet the carved-out ache of regret lingered in his chest.

“Crowley?” He whipped around to see Aziraphale standing there, his palms spread open in welcome.

“Aziraphale!” Crowley wanted to - to reach for his hands, or hug him, or something. But he didn’t. It wasn’t the Aziraphale he knew. Aziraphale reached out, and - oh help -  _ this really isn’t the Aziraphale I know, _ he thought as the angel pulled him into a gentle embrace. 

“It’s so good to see you again,” Aziraphale murmured into his air, tightening his grasp. Crowley realized he might have made a very large mistake in setting  _ this _ as the precedent for greetings. Then again, Aziraphale’s arms felt soft and lovely around him. He relaxed into their hold and let a hand drift to the angel’s shoulder.

“I’ve missed you,” Crowley blurted out, then froze.

Aziraphale didn’t pull back like he should have, like he  _ would _ have. “Yes, so have I.”

Crowley let go of the angel and stepped back. Reluctantly. “I’m sorry,” he said. “For last time. You don’t have to see the Old World if you don’t want.”

“That’s quite alright, dear.” Aziraphale’s eyes were a deeper blue beneath the stars, and twinkled just as bright. “I’m just glad to see you again. I’ve wanted to ask about - well, everything.”

_ Where was this curious angel six thousand years ago?  _ Crowley wondered.  _ What happened to you, before we met? _

“Ask away,” was all he said. Aziraphale smiled and sat down on the shadowed grass, patting the patch next to him. Crowley wordlessly slid down into his usual sprawl. He could feel the angel’s warmth radiating from where he sat. 

“Well, first of all,” said Aziraphale, “I wanted to ask what rank you are. I didn’t see you at the meeting on the first day, so perhaps you’re very important?”

Crowley stiffened and then tried to play it off immediately. “Oh, I’m just a very minor, er, rank. Nothing special.”

“So why weren’t you at the first gathering?” This Aziraphale wasn’t letting up like the old one might have.

“I just, er, uh, hm, didn’t feel like it.”

“You  _ skipped _ it because you didn’t  _ feel _ like it?” asked Aziraphale loudly. Crowley put a finger to his lips.

“Not so bloody loud, angel! What? Nothing wrong with playing hooky.” He grinned at Aziraphale.

“What’s  _ hooky _ ?”

“Oh, it’s an expression. Means, uh, skipping things on purpose.”

“Alright. Well, if you can keep a secret,” Aziraphale said, “I really wish I’d thought of that.” He met Crowley’s gaze and giggled.

_ Seriously, where  _ were  _ you all this time? _ Crowley laughed, a little stunned. His angel was still Aziraphale, but so young and impressionable. Still damnably clever too, no doubt. 

“It was  _ so _ boring,” Aziraphale went on. “They made us sing so many hymns, and they didn’t erase any of  _ those  _ memories, of course, so I already knew them all.  _ Extremely  _ dull.”

Crowley gaped at him. “I… yeah. So, wait, they didn’t erase all of your memories?”

“Well, that’s what I wanted to ask about,” said Aziraphale. “Could you tell me? What I’ve forgotten?”

Crowley was beginning to understand the expression  _ a deer in headlights _ better than ever. “Uh…”

“Let’s start off with an easy one. How did we meet?” The angel’s eyes were big and blue and expectant. 

Crowley swallowed. “Well. You were - you had a flaming sword, and you were supposed to be guarding the Tree of Knowledge, but you weren’t very good at it. And I was there too, and we sort of had a little chat about everything, up on the Eastern Wall.”

At this, Aziraphale had gotten a strange look. “I was guarding the -  _ the _ Tree of Knowledge? Not just your average wise old oak?”

“Er, yes?”

Aziraphale’s hands twisted together. Crowley studied him carefully. “Did I used to be important, then?”

Suddenly, a fury rose within Crowley that had to be tamped down.  _ The bastards. They told you you weren’t important? You were a Principality, for goodness’ sake! _

“A Principality?!” Fuck. He’d said it all out loud.

“Yeah, I think you might’ve been a Cherub at some point, but -”

Aziraphale’s face was turning bright red. If the old Aziraphale had been there to witness it he certainly would have pointed out the similarity to Heirloom tomatoes. Crowley’s heart ached even as it lifted.

“My dear, if you are poking fun, I really must insist you stop.”

“I’m not! I would never! I mean, I would, but not with the stuff you can’t remember.” 

“Oh gosh,” Aziraphale said, and brought a hand to his heart. The gesture was so  _ Aziraphale _ that Crowley felt like reciprocating with a hand over his own battered heart. “Why wouldn’t Gabriel tell me?”

Crowley made a series of increasingly flabbergasted choking noises, cleared his throat, repeated the whole procedure three times, and finally spoke. “Because Gabriel,” and here he paused,  _ choose your words carefully you’re in Heaven you idiot, _ “is a wanker.”

He needn’t have worried about the angel’s reaction - even if, for a fleeting moment, Crowley was sure he would pass out. Aziraphale’s face moved quickly from shock to glee. 

“He is, isn’t he?” Aziraphale grinned, laughing.  _ I can’t believe you would just punch me in the chest like that,  _ Crowley wanted to say. “Oh, and to think, he told me all about what a  _ lowly  _ angel I am! Oh! A Principality!” 

The angel’s smile was smug and entirely too much. Crowley could do nothing but gobble up the sight of him like a particularly ripe piece of fruit.

“See, this is why I need you to tell me everything,” Aziraphale implored. “I’m missing out on the most remarkably juicy tidbits of my own life. Didn’t you say a flaming sword, before?”

“Yes, I did,” said Crowley, grinning in anticipation.

“Well, what happened to it? Great big flaming sword, must be dreadfully hard to misplace.”

“Quite.”

“Well, then, where on Earth did it go?”

“You gave it away.”

“I  _ what?” _


	9. Aziraphale 5

Aziraphale had known that if Crowley were to come visiting again it would be a simply wonderful experience. He had known it, and yet, he felt he had enjoyed himself so thoroughly that he couldn’t have anticipated it. The stories! Stories of his old life! He could have listened to Crowley for hours if the angel hadn’t muttered something about  _ tending to an earthly matter _ and slunk off into the night.

Aziraphale had never seen anyone else slink, but he was sure it was the right word for what Crowley did. His legs, all sinewy length and nothing more, would prowl as he raised an overly casual hand and melted into the darkness. Aziraphale didn’t want to think about the picture his ridiculous baby-blue eyes would have painted, watching Crowley go.

He didn’t like feeling so helpless, so stranded and alone, not when there was a perfectly good friend to spend time with. And so Aziraphale followed him.

Crowley was being awfully sneaky, creeping up hills, hiding behind bushes, doing that shadowy-melty thing he was so good at. Aziraphale just couldn’t figure out  _ why. _ He theorized that Crowley was simply practicing his subterfuge skills for the wild and dangerous environment on Earth.

It made Aziraphale feel quite excited.

Finally, Aziraphale recognized their surroundings, and followed just close enough behind to watch Crowley disappear underneath what appeared to be a grassy green trapdoor with a  _ pop. _ He waited a few minutes and then crept forwards. He wasn’t sure if it was just the moonlight and shadows that made him feel as though he ought to be sneaky. There wasn’t anything wrong with just taking a look, was there?

Something told him Gabriel would not see it that way. Aziraphale mentally stuck his tongue out and said  _ I was a Principality. _ Much better than any dusty old Archangel.

He felt around the area Crowley had disappeared, and felt a curious sort of lip in the earth. He seized it, digging with his fingernails, and it opened up without any more assistance. A hot wind rose from beneath, carrying scents that Aziraphale had no experience with.

Didn’t he?

He knew the main one, the bitter curling one. It was smoke, or ash, or general burning. For a moment, he saw a sword in his hand. It glimmered in the Sun, the blade silver, the hilt a beautiful bronze. He remembered that it had hurt his hand to hold. He’d gotten blisters.

Aziraphale shook his head and focussed on looking down the hole in the Earth. A ladder ran out from it, leading down to a large orange expanse.  _ Orange?  _ He would have thought the Earth was supposed to be green. Brown and green. Blue, too, for the ocean. He remembered the ocean.

A pang ran up his spine, and for the first time, Aziraphale considered that what he was doing would not be generally categorized as a good idea. His eyes focussed briefly on a little black dot making its way over the orange, and he felt more than recognized Crowley, and then his feet were on the rungs and he was on his way down.

It made him feel dizzy, to be all the way up here. He felt a strange swooping in his stomach whenever he glimpsed the Earth. It manifested in his wings, too. They trembled a little, arching and stretching, preparing for imminent flight. Aziraphale had never much liked flying, though, had he? Awfully hard on the back.

And so the angel did not fly, choosing instead to carefully but surely climb down the ladder and set his feet on the still-warm sand. He looked around the little building. It wasn’t supposed to have quite so many holes, was it? Aziraphale wandered to the entrance and stuck his head out.

_ Oh. _ His stomach fell in disappointment. The Old Earth wasn’t anything much, was it? Only dust and sand as far as the eye could see - with some really quite nice hills. But the buildings? Aziraphale walked around the little village, disturbed to see that the house he had come from had been the most intact. Crowley must be walking away - there wasn’t much to see here. Aziraphale followed.

He soon discovered that his feet became sore when he walked too much. That had never happened in Heaven. He thought of the lush grasses he had just left with a good deal of wistfulness. But no matter. He remembered something leathery that ought to go on feet - what were they called? Oh, it was on the tip of his tongue - and miracled something similar up.

Well. They were leathery, and they protected his feet from the sand. Good enough. He traipsed over the dunes, wrinkling his nose at the odd feeling of leather wiggling between his toes.

It was an hour or so before Crowley reached wherever on Earth it was they were going. By this point, Aziraphale was having to manage the fact that his corporeal form kept on sweating. There was moisture all over his face, and it was most unpleasant. He panted a little as he made it up the last hill (oh, they were beautiful, but Crowley had conveniently forgotten to mention the complete hell they wreaked on one’s calves), and sat down heavily behind a large rock. He let himself rest there for a while, and then tentatively peered around the edge.

Crowley had entered what looked like a little nest of makeshift houses. Homes? Shelters? Aziraphale couldn’t quite remember what counted as a  _ house _ , but he was sure that these weren’t it. They were fashioned out of brick and ruined slabs of metal. Behind them loomed ruins, except these were not at all like the ruins of the little village. 

No, these ruins were huge and desolate, buildings snapped in two, rooves melted into sick and curling shapes, the rubble an endless pile that kept going endlessly along the city streets. Aziraphale hoped desperately that the city had been abandoned before this had happened. It  _ must  _ have been. Heaven may be dull, but they were the Good Guys, the Righteous Ones, and they wouldn’t kill so many innocents needlessly. 

Would they?

Something niggled in Aziraphale’s gut, but he pushed it away firmly, focussing again on the camp nearby. There was a fire in the middle of it. The sword appeared in Aziraphale’s mind again, more clearly this time, delicate etchings on the blade visible.

There were humans sitting around the campfire. Crowley joined them, sitting down, his voice indistinguishable from this distance but definitely talking. They all seemed so familiar with each other. Crowley was holding up a hand for a very small human to inspect. Aziraphale felt a strange warmth flood him right through, from hidden wingtip to sticky, sandy toes.

At least Aziraphale could be sure that Crowley was definitely one of the Good Guys. He was immensely grateful that his old self had had the good sense to forge a strong friendship with Crowley. Very sensible. On the whole, a moral victory. 

But then again - Aziraphale couldn’t imagine ever staying away.


	10. Crowley 5

“Why aren’t you in bed?” Crowley asked little Orli, poking his tiny hand. “Isn’t it too late for you?”

“He’s too scared to sleep alone,” said Amal, one of the other adults. He had a round and cheerful face framed by brown-black curls. “He has to be with someone.”

Crowley nodded, ruffling Orli’s hair. He would have been perfectly happy to oblige, but he was aware there were limits with strange adults you had just let into your camp and small children. He would have to earn their trust, and that was fine.

Amal was looking at him side-on, extremely not-subtly. Crowley pretended not to notice, grabbing what used to be a fencepost and poking the fire with it. If it blazed a little brighter than it really ought to, well, no one would complain for extra warmth.

“You were away a lot of the day today,” said Amal.

“Yep.”

“Doing what?”

Crowley sniffed. “I was - looking for someone.”

“Who?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Crowley tried to say it with finality. He wasn’t really in the mood for an interrogation.

“How do you speak Hebrew so well?” Amal asked, changing tack.

“Well, I, I actually, I sort of grew up here.” It was mostly true. A couple countries over, actually. But those were human boundaries.

“Oh. But you’re British?”

“It’s complicated. My, uh, my family split up, and I wasn’t really wanted by either side, so off to, er, Britain with me.”

Amal made a face. “Your parents sound shitty.”

“That’s putting it mildly.”

And then Crowley became aware of a Presence. Something other than the mortal souls winding their way around the days. It was Divine. He swore lowly.

“You alright? You know, if you ever want to, um, talk, I’m here, um, I guess.” Amal was looking very alarmed indeed at the prospect of Talking About Childhood Trauma. Well, what did he expect with his incessant questions?

“No, it’s just - I think I saw something.”

“Where?” The camp leader, Eliana, apparently had bat hearing. She practically materialized in front of her tent, a hand already on her gun. 

Her partner’s head - Crowley remembered her name as Takisha - popped out from the tent, eyes bleary. “What’s going on?” she mumbled.

“Let me handle it,” said Crowley.

“Absolutely fucking not,” Eliana snapped, and then, looking back at Takisha, rearranged her face into a less aggressive grimace. “No offence.”

“None taken,” Crowley sighed. “I’ll just tag along.” 

Eliana gave a terse nod, then turned back and crouched by Takisha, exchanging low murmurs and a quick kiss. Crowley looked away. 

They were all doomed if there really was an angel out there. Hopefully Crowley could at least buy the humans time to run. Wasn’t it  _ enough  _ that they’d destroyed most of the planet? Did they really have to come back and finish the job?

Crowley crept behind Eliana (she’d insisted on taking the lead), sand sliding between his toes, his feet slipping a little. There was no moon tonight and the resulting night was almost pitch black. They weren’t carrying a torch, because, well, if there  _ was _ someone, it’d be  _ bloody obvious where they should attack.  _ According to Eliana.

Crowley had to admit it didn’t make much sense to carry around a beacon as you searched for an enemy in the dark.

The Presence was still here. Crowley could feel it. He closed his eyes for a second, standing quite still, and let his powers reach out. Definitely an angel, but - there was something different about this one. He couldn’t quite put his finger on it.  _ Please don’t let it be anything too powerful. _ The feeling grew stronger and stronger, no matter which way they walked, and Crowley came to the terrifying realization that they were being  _ followed. _

He relayed as much to Eliana and Amal, who he could see quite clearly with his sensitive eyes squinting suspiciously at him. Crowley paid them no attention. He turned around to the direction from which they’d just come, and saw a figure a little ways away.

“Stay  _ back,” _ he growled to the others, and started forwards. The angel was wearing a white robe, he could make out, and they had a head full of curls, and -  _ oh. _

“Aziraphale!” Crowley called out, straightening up and running forwards. “What are you doing here?” He hoped his voice didn’t sound  _ too _ delighted. Standards. Yes. Good.

“Oh! You frightened me!” said the angel. “I’m terribly sorry for interrupting whatever it was you were doing, but I was - well, I was curious.”

Crowley grinned wide, even though the angel couldn’t see him. “Well, you didn’t interrupt us. Come on, I’ll show you the camp.”

Just then, Aziraphale’s hand (reaching for his) was intercepted and twisted behind his back. 

“What the  _ Hell _ do you think you’re playing at?” Eliana hissed at Crowley. “ _ You _ do not give  _ me  _ orders. Do I make myself clear?”

Crowley was preoccupied with the way Aziraphale was wriggling in her grasp, his blue eyes wide and terrified. “Let him go!” he said.

“Do you trust him?” she asked, the glint of a knife coming up to Aziraphale’s neck. Crowley’s body tensed to strike on autopilot, his stupid heart hammering away.

“Yes, yes, I know him, now stop it!”

She released him, and Crowley caught the angel before he could crumple to the ground. He fought the urge to growl at Eliana, instead wrapping Aziraphale’s arm over his shoulder and hoisting him to his feet. 

“You can’t just go around following people in the middle of the night,” Eliana said. “Next time, you have to be more cautious. If you hadn’t known him, the whole camp could have been put in danger, Crowley, you - you  _ have  _ to be more careful.”

Crowley had had quite enough of people telling him what to do for one lifetime, let alone six millennia, but he sighed and muttered a vague sound of assent.

Eliana clicked her tongue, a distinctly unsatisfied sound, and stalked off into the night. Amal had been watching the scene from a few metres away. He stepped forwards as if to say something, but turned and followed his leader silently instead.

“Oh,” said Aziraphale weakly from his side, and Crowley remembered the angel who had just been held at knifepoint for the first time in his spanking brand new life.

“Aziraphale,” he said, taking his friend’s face in one hand, “are you alright?”

“Um,” said Aziraphale, “I’m not sure.” He was as pale as a sheet, the obvious lack of rosiness in his cheeks sending a pang to Crowley’s heart.

“It’s okay, it’s alright, come on, let’s get back to the camp. You can rest there.” 

“Rest?” Aziraphale asked, falling into step alongside him. “I don’t need -” 

“Rest,” said Crowley firmly. “You’ll feel better.” It was then that he looked down and noticed the  _ abominations. _

“Er, Aziraphale?”

“Yes?” Blue eyes blinked through the night.

“What have you got on your feet?” Crowley had thought toed socks were a wonderful invention. Especially when they got sold in horribly clashing stripes. But these -  _ these  _ were going too far. They were what you might expect a foot-shaped leather handbag to look like, but the edges were unfinished and roughcut, and they were far too loose to stay on his angel’s feet comfortably.

“Um,” said Aziraphale. “Shoes?”

Crowley bit his lip to keep from laughing.  _ Aziraphale would be horrified, _ he thought. Well. The old Aziraphale.  _ I have standards _ and all that. Crowley twirled a hand towards Aziraphale’s feet and reshaped them into his best recollection of a comfy pair of sandals. The old Aziraphale would still be horrified, honestly.

“Oh!” Aziraphale smiled down at his feet, pointing the shoes this way and that, admiring the dark leather straps. “Oh, that’s much better. Crowley, is there anything you can’t do?”

_ Bring you back. _

Crowley forced a smile and a laugh, and they continued their walk to camp.


	11. Aziraphale 6

No one in Heaven had ever taken any notice of Aziraphale. It was therefore an entirely overwhelming and unfamiliar experience to be the obvious object of attention of multiple people all at once. He swallowed, and leaned further into Crowley, who hadn’t taken his arm back from around him since that woman had pushed her knife into his throat.

“What’s your name, then?” a dark-skinned man sitting on a steel bucket across the campfire asked.

“Aziraphale,” Crowley answered for him, his arm tightening around Aziraphale. 

“Can you speak for yourself, then?” the man grinned.

Aziraphale managed a smile. “Yes.”

“Thought so. So -”

“Leave him alone,” chided a woman. She was curled up against the terrifying one, the leader. “Amal only ever asks questions,” she said to Aziraphale, “and he forgets that normal people have boundaries.”

Aziraphale glanced uncertainly from the woman to the man. _ Amal. _“Oh, it’s quite alright.”

“I only wanted to ask where he’s from!” Amal complained.

Takisha rolled her eyes, and poked the scary woman. “_Chamuda sheli*, _ you tell him.” 

“You heard her,” the leader said. “Lay off.”

The group subsequently lapsed into silence. Aziraphale watched the flames in a daze, breathing in and out, the smoke itching a little in his throat. He couldn’t remember why or how he had started breathing, but there it was. He could feel it all the way through his chest down to his stomach. In and out. It steadied him, the same way Crowley’s arm did, warm and heavy around him.

“Where do you get a name like _ Aziraphale _, though?” Amal asked. He ducked a moment later, laughing as Takisha threw a pebble at him. 

“The same place a name like Crowley comes from, one imagines,” said the leader. She tilted her head, dark eyes considering Crowley and Aziraphale. “A cult?”

“Something like that,” Crowley said, smooth and quick. “It’s a long story, and you’ve traumatized my friend here enough.”

“Traumatized? Eliana, what did you do?” asked Takisha, sitting up.

“It’s fine,” Aziraphale said quickly, “I shouldn’t’ve crept up on you.” 

“What _ were _you doing out there like that, anyway?” Amal asked. Four separate sighs of exasperation issued from around the campfire.

“I was looking for Crowley.” Aziraphale avoided Crowley’s eye.

“Weird way of going about it,” muttered Eliana.

“Yes, and I do apologize.”

“British,” said Amal cheerfully. “You can’t be that polite without being British.”

“Could be Canadian,” said Takisha.

“I think the accent is more British, though,” said Amal.

“He’s always smiling! Canadian.”

“He said _ I do apologize. _British.”

Aziraphale laughed delightedly. They both stopped bickering and turned to look at him with expectation written clear on their faces.

“You’re both wrong,” he said. “Keep guessing.”

More people joined in after that. A scrawny sort of fellow named Brian was terribly insistent he must be from Australia, for God knows what reason. The child, Orli, thought Aziraphale must be from Israel, though that might have been because he didn’t know that any other countries existed. Aziraphale was having rather a lot of fun saying _ no _ to all of them. Eliana called it for the night when eyelids started to droop, ordering everyone back to their little shelters to sleep.

Crowley’s arm left his shoulders and as a result they felt rather cold and abandoned. The angel was looking at him very intently. Scrutinizing.

“You should probably go back to Heaven,” he said. “They might miss you.”

“They won’t, honestly. And it’s so boring. I’d really much rather stay here.” He blinked hopefully up at Crowley. The angel’s face was flickering in the dying firelight, the crags and valleys illuminated only to fall into darkness a moment later. Every second was unique and Aziraphale wanted nothing more than to reach through time and snare each one to keep for himself.

“Are you sure?” asked Crowley. “Because you’ll have to pretend to sleep for eight hours. You usually - well - you used to hate it.”

“Sleep?” Aziraphale knew the technical definition of the word, but wasn’t sure exactly what it entailed.

“Yeah. Look, come on, I’ll show you to my, erm, home sweet home.”

Crowley’s home sweet home was little more than a sheet of metal propped up against some crumbling brick, with a stained and ragged fabric laid out across the ground.

“I’ll just take you back to Heaven, shall I?” Crowley asked. Aziraphale was quick to rearrange his expression.

“No, no, it’s very quaint! I do want to stay here, Crowley, please don’t send me away.” A faint choking noise issued from beside him, but Crowley didn’t appear to be having any breathing problems.

“‘Course not, angel,” Crowley said hoarsely. “So, we just, we, er, lie down here, then.”

Aziraphale nodded and sat down carefully on the rug, making sure not to put his hands through any of the holes that surely would lead to the grimy earth below. He looked up at Crowley, who seemed to have frozen.

“Right. Er. Yes.” The angel sat awkwardly next to him, slouching back onto his elbows. “Come on, then.”

Aziraphale lowered himself back and onto his side, facing Crowley. The angel’s mouth was slightly open, his eyes on Aziraphale’s, his chest rising and falling. 

“Crowley?”

“Mm?”

“What if I get cold?” It was a genuine concern.

Crowley’s eyes softened as he turned to Aziraphale, awkwardness gone. “I’ll keep you warm.” He held out an arm. Aziraphale eagerly shuffled forwards to accept it, snuggling into Crowley’s now-familiar warmth. He brought his own arms up to rest between them, one hand on Crowley’s shoulder, another on his waist. 

“Thank you, dear,” he said. “Now, show me how to sleep.”

Aziraphale didn't realize he'd fallen asleep until he'd woken up, and he didn't realize he'd woken up until it was morning. The only indication was the light gently waxing around the little shelter. It was warm and bright.

He blinked his eyes open, marveling at the strange things pushing around inside his brain. It felt a little like a soup that had been stirred very well, left to simmer, and was now quite ready for consumption. It felt fresh and invigorating, lively and new, and Aziraphale wanted nothing more than to get up and start doing something.

He shook his head, and noticed suddenly that he was lying half on top of something. A very warm something. A very warm Crowley. He felt his cheeks heat and lifted his head off the other angel's chest.

Crowley's head was tilted back, his pale neck exposed, his mouth open. Aziraphale told himself it was rude to stare, and looked away, only to turn his gaze back. Crowley's hair was so gorgeous, slick ropes of fire against the dull dirt, threads of life that Aziraphale wanted so badly to touch. He thought it would probably be a little strange if he did, and so he did nothing but want. Aziraphale carefully slid off Crowley's chest.

Crowley mumbled, his arms flapping around, one catching on Aziraphale's shoulder. "'Zira," he said. "'Ziraphale."

Was he conscious? Aziraphale had no idea. He tentatively gripped Crowley's shoulder and shook it. "Are you awake?"

"Hmmburghad," said Crowley. "Ughhhmmmfup." The angel's back began to arch, and his arms stretched far above his head. Something popped audibly, and Crowley's eyes opened.

"Oh, hello," said Aziraphale, smiling. "Sorry if I woke you."

Crowley's eyelids shuttered several times in rapid succession, and his shoulders immediately tensed up. He sat up, rubbing his eyes, and looked at Aziraphale. "Morning, angel."

"Good morning, angel."

Crowley made that funny choking noise he always did when surprised. "I told you - you don't call me angel, angel."

"Well, angel, I want to call you angel, angel," said Aziraphale, lifting his nose into the air. "So there. Angel."

"Who's an angel?" a high-pitched voice came from outside. A small child's head suddenly appeared, looking through the entrance. "Are you an angel, Crowley?"

"I'm a demon," Crowley growled, "and I'm going to get you!" He sprang up and chased the little human out the doorway, leaving Aziraphale alone.

Aziraphale wondered why Crowley seemed to favour the little humans so much over the big ones. He couldn't see much difference, personally, other than the scale. He left Crowley's 'house', squinting against the light, and wandered over to the campfire, lit once again.

"Breakfast?" A heavy-set woman with muscles that rippled under her skin like water was sitting at the fire, tending something in a pan. Aziraphale peered at it, and suddenly became aware of the smell. Something in the air said warm and inviting and... food. The contents of the pan were a pinky-red, slowly becoming brown all over, and something about it reminded Aziraphale terribly of a tiny English café.

It had been called _ Best Café _, and it was green on the inside. Green tiles, green linoleum, green counters, but with orange plates. It hadn't smelled good until Aziraphale had ordered the - the - the full English breakfast. He'd gotten something else, too, English breakfast but in a liquid form, a tea. When the food had arrived, Crowley had sniffed and stolen a few of the brown, mushy - no - roomy - no - mushrooms. Mushrooms. Those little slices of pink, the things in the pan, they were called -

"Meat!" said Aziraphale excitedly. "Are you cooking meat?"

"What does it look like?" the woman asked, raising an eyebrow. "It’s goat. You want some?"

"Oh, yes please," he said, then remembered Crowley. "Wait, I'll just - I need to find - oh!"

Crowley appeared at his side, sniffing the air. "Thought I might find you near the food, angel."

"Is it alright to have some?" Aziraphale asked eagerly. "I would so like to try them."

"Is it - Aziraphale - you - for God's sake," and here Crowley winced for some unknowable reason, "Eat!"

Aziraphale was practically vibrating with excitement by the time the woman (Hande, she had told him, smiling) handed him two juicy pieces of goat by the bone. He thanked her profusely, and let Crowley lead him to a more secluded spot to eat.

"Oh, this is terribly exciting," said Aziraphale. He passed one of the goat pieces to Crowley, and studied the one remaining in his hand. It had a bit of dark char on the outside, and inside were varying colours of brown and faint pink. He looked up to see that Crowley wasn't eating, but watching him with some strange kind of intensity.

"You can eat, my dear," he said. "I just want to savour this."

Crowley's face went a little red. "I'm just, er, I just… Well. We used to eat together all the time. It was kind of our thing."

"How lovely," said Aziraphale. He sniffed the meat one last time, and opened his mouth to take a bite.

His teeth broke through it easily. There was a little liquid, a little juice, that ran into his mouth as he bit and chewed. When the first mouthful registered on his tongue, he moaned in delight. It tasted heavenly, but the good kind of heavenly, not the boring one that actually existed. The meat was sweet and smoky, and the feeling of chewing into it was immensely satisfying. Aziraphale couldn't help but make a few more little moans as he chewed, chewed, and swallowed.

He realized he had closed his eyes, and once again opened them, feeling like an entirely different person. Crowley was still staring at him, his face really quite flushed.

"Enjoying yourself?" his companion asked, a smile starting to creep onto his face.

Aziraphale nodded emphatically. "I - I can't describe what a sensation this is, my dear. I think I could eat a million of these."

"Well, you've got two. Make them last." Crowley's eyes were warm and liquid, melted honey, twisted amber in the light. Aziraphale took another bite, and moaned again. When he met Crowley's eyes, there was something deeper in them, something he couldn't define. Something that sent him reeling, back, back, back to -

_ "We have to go," said Crowley, grabbing Aziraphale by both his arms. "We have to go, now." _

_ "But - but the humans," Aziraphale protested. "We ought to protect them." _

_ "Angel, if we don't go now, we'll be of no use to anyone." Crowley's eyes caught his, and that feeling, something deep, unyielding, fierce. Aziraphale was being thrown headfirst into the depths of a raging sea, sinking and sinking, and he'd never float again. _

_ Aziraphale didn't look at the humans around them, he couldn't bear to, to see exactly who he'd failed. "Alright," he breathed, and held onto Crowley as he snapped his fingers. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * Translation:  
Chamuda sheli - pet term of endearment, literally "my life"


	12. Crowley 6

“Aziraphale?” Crowley asked. The angel had just taken his second blissful bite, but there was something in his eyes. Something not right. His expression had wrinkles around the edges - the kind that Crowley knew all too well. “Aziraphale, what’s wrong?”

“We left them behind,” Aziraphale breathed. He chewed and swallowed his mouthful without so much as a hum of pleasure. “We left the humans behind, Crowley.”

Crowley suddenly knew exactly what he was talking about. 

“Oh,” he said. “Right.” 

He had built quite a good fortress in his head to help him forget that particular day, thank you very much, and he didn’t really want Aziraphale knocking it down with his newfound battering ram of curiosity. “Look, can we - can we not?” 

Aziraphale blinked at him. His eyes, Crowley realised with horror, were wet and sparkling. “We left them, and it didn’t even do anything. We didn’t stop it.”

Crowley nodded, his heart hammering. “I know.”

“How could we do that?” asked Aziraphale, his face contorting. “We should have - oh, Crowley,” and the angel promptly burst into tears. His food fell to the ground, lying sadly in the dust. Crowley felt a great cavern of unknown open up within him. Aziraphale was crying, properly crying, and he was so ill-equipped to deal with this. Fuck. Should he get someone else to help? His hands shook. He should probably do something other than just staring.

Crowley reached out for Aziraphale’s shoulder, leaving a hand on it tentatively. He tried rubbing it back and forth, stroking along Aziraphale’s back. That was supposed to be soothing, wasn’t it? Crowley did not feel  _ qualified _ to not fuck this up. He couldn’t bear to stain Aziraphale more than he had last lifetime - and God knew this Aziraphale was so - so malleable.

Malleable made it sound like he was an object, though. Crowley was acutely aware that the angel shaking beneath his hands was alive and aware. Not malleable, then, but - suggestible. This Aziraphale was also significantly more  _ touchy _ than the old one, and as soon as Crowley’s thumb began to stroke along his spine he sighed and launched himself into Crowley’s arms.

Crowley held him and whispered soothing nonsense words, shushing him the way he used to do with Warlock, letting his hands linger over the angel’s shoulders until Aziraphale had cried himself out. 

“Alright?” he murmured, and Aziraphale gave a wretched little choking sound that tore his heart into two ragged pieces. “There, there.” He patted the angel’s back, and let him go.

Aziraphale wouldn’t meet his eyes. “I think,” he said wetly, “I had better go back to Heaven. They might miss me.”

Crowley nodded. Even as his heart dropped. “Of course, angel. If that’s what you think is best.”

“Yes. Oh, Crowley, I… I should like to remember nicer things. Are there nicer things? Or did we have a terrible life, before?”

“We had a wonderful life, before,” said Crowley. “Well. When there was no Divine Intervention to contend with.”

Aziraphale’s brow puckered at that. “Intervention?”

“Well, er, one time they tried to relocate you to Heaven. We sorted it all out, of course. And then we had chocolate.”

“Chocolate,” Aziraphale said wonderingly, putting a finger onto his tongue. Crowley wished he could get some  _ warning _ before his angel just went and - did that. “It’s - sweet, and silken, isn’t it? I should very much like to try some again, Crowley.”

_How do you still talk like you’re from the 19th century if you were wiped clean two weeks ago,_ Crowley wanted to say. _How do you feel the same?_ _How can you still know me like this?_

“I’ll see if I can find some,” he said instead. “I’ll - I could bring it up sometime?”

Aziraphale met his eyes then, and nodded, his body curling away from Crowley’s almost shyly. “That sounds nice,” he said. “But - how? And where?”

“Ehh, around.”

“Will you have to fly?” 

Crowley swallowed, thinking of his ruined wings. “I - don’t think I can. Wings are a bit beat up.”

Aziraphale watched him with those round blue unblinking eyes. “Let me help.”


	13. Aziraphale 7

They’d had to find a secluded little place on the outskirts of the ruined city - Crowley said the humans would be alarmed to see him with  _ ‘great big bloody flappers’. _ And so Aziraphale sat on the edge of a rough concrete block, and Crowley sat beneath him on the floor, between his legs. And Aziraphale worked.

Crowley’s wings were in terrible condition. Not just the feathers, ruffled and kinked and discoloured, but the membrane beneath them had great holes ripped in it. Aziraphale couldn’t exactly remember how to heal, but whatever he did seemed to work, the skin closing back in over itself.

Crowley shivered when he did that. Aziraphale put a hand into Crowley’s hair to keep him still and murmured small encouragements to him as he worked.

When the wings were fully healed, they looked much better than before, but not nearly satisfactory. 

“Well, thanks,” said Crowley, and made to get up. Aziraphale put hands on his shoulder and pushed him down again.

“You are  _ not _ done!” he exclaimed. “Your feathers, they’re all messy!”

Crowley shrugged underneath his touch. “It’s fine, I don’t care.”

“Well, I do,” Aziraphale said, and began his finer work.

Crowley shivered a lot more as he smoothed out the feathers - little shudders, the muscles in his neck tensing. And if Aziraphale let his hands linger for longer than necessary, well… Crowley didn’t need to know that. Not when the most delicious sigh was drawn from his lungs when Aziraphale ran a finger along the muscled ridge connecting wings to back.

After an hour, though, it became very evident that Crowley’s wings were in tip-top condition.

“Right. Yes. Thanks.” Crowley looked everywhere but at Aziraphale. Aziraphale bit his lip, and hoped he hadn’t done anything wrong.

“You’ll be alright to fly, then?”

Crowley shook out his wings experimentally. They were so beautiful, curving sleek back silk into the sky above. 

“Yep. I’ll be - I’ll just be off, then.” Aziraphale nodded, and Crowley met his eyes just once before taking off into the bright blue sky above.

Aziraphale’s fingers tingled as he watched the angel fly away. He took a few moments to recollect himself before setting back off towards the entrance to Heaven.


	14. Crowley 7

Crowley quite liked flying - at least, for the first hour. It felt the same as being a snake, winding and twisting through the air. After that lovely metaphor wore off, it started to play absolute hell on your core, especially when you hadn’t been especially diligent in your exercises over the centuries.

When he made it to London, or rather the place where London used to be, Crowley pulled up short. It was no better than Ramallah, the city he’d left behind. Rubble filled the streets and hunks of metal and rock protruded from what used to be buildings. He recognized a warped and twisted London Eye, now perched over the river like a great misshapen hamster wheel.

_ Focus. _ He was here for Aziraphale, and his bookshop, and his memories. Crowley let the warm currents of air guide him to Soho. He perched on the most stable-looking pile of rubble nearby.

The bookshop - entirely gone. Wooden beams and planks lay around the street like the broken limbs of a clockwork monster. While the other shops had been left with melted fronts, Aziraphale’s had been nearly completely obliterated. Little bits of charred paper fluttered around Crowley’s head mockingly as he neared, slipping and sliding over the rubble. 

He set to poking about in the remains. It was beneath a blackened shelf he found it - one singular intact book. Intact enough to read the title on the front, anyway.

_ Maurice. _ By E.M. Forster.

Despite insisting the contrary, Crowley did read. He enjoyed reading all the quintessential British novels - alright, mostly the Famous Five - simply to make fun of them. He had his favourites, too: Goosebumps. Those were the kind of books Aziraphale would even consider keeping in stock. And so Crowley did not know this particular title.

He picked up the book, dusting the ash off the front. He opened it gently, carefully, aware of how dry and brittle the pages were. There was a messy inscription in the front cover, reading  _ May you find your scruffy gardener, my friend. _ Scruffy gardener? Well.

Crowley miracled up an over the shoulder book bag, and tucked it in carefully. That was one thing taken care of. One book. If he wanted to jog Aziraphale’s memory just enough for him to remember the happy times, but not the bits where Crowley was too obviously a demon… He could start with lunch. Crêpes. How did you make crêpes, again? Well, he could just miracle the ingredients. A recipe, though?

Crowley turned back to the destroyed bookshop and sighed. There  _ had _ to be a recipe book here somewhere… 

Three hours and a head of ash-laden hair later, Crowley had found the recipe in a very chunky old book that had evidently rolled a natural 20 on its constitution check, or just came with ridiculous armour class. 

He had collected some trinkets on the way, too. A pair of little winged cufflinks. A slightly melted pair of sunglasses Crowley hadn’t known Aziraphale was hanging on to - the angel could explain that to him, once he remembered. A snuffbox containing some very old and rare chocolates that Crowley wished the old Aziraphale had been around to be embarrassed about. Crowley had even found a tiny square of one of the angel’s bow-ties. It wasn’t his favourite blue one, rather, it was beige with little lines of pink and orange. Crowley just hoped it would help his angel.

With all his little treasures of Aziraphale’s in tow, Crowley set off amidst the darkening sky, his wings tired and aching, but his heart a little lighter.


	15. Aziraphale 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _  
Would you hold my hand  
If I saw you in heaven?  
Would you help me stand  
If I saw you in heaven?  
_

Aziraphale was watching  _ The Sound of Music _ \- extended version - for the sixteenth night in a row. He lay back on the soft grass and watched the overhead night projector as Maria realized (yet again) that the Captain loved her back.

Funny, the effects they used in this bit. 

They made Maria’s face so terribly soft. Everything went blurry around the edges. Her eyes were so blue, accentuated in her modest little floaty dress. Her short hair was meticulously combed and flattened. She looked so innocent.

_ Perhaps I had a wicked childhood…  _

One’s memories being removed might imply that, Aziraphale supposed. He did wish he could remember exactly  _ why _ his childhood had been so wicked - but then that would rather defeat the whole purpose.

_ Perhaps I had a miserable youth… _

He didn’t know about miserable. He’d had Crowley, hadn’t he? Aziraphale couldn’t imagine ever being entirely miserable around the angel.

_ But somewhere in my wicked, miserable past, there must have been a moment of truth… _

He closed his eyes, and tried to remember back. There had to be something there - something he could grab onto. A thread of memory that would lead to another, and another, gold shining through the night of apathy. But it was like skittering over a frozen lake; it might crack and give with time, but for now the rim remained frozen and impenetrable.

“Angel!” 

Aziraphale’s whole being flooded through with delight. “Crowley?”

“Enjoying the show, are you?” His friend was sauntering towards him over the grass, hips swinging. Aziraphale had to squint to see his black clothes against the dark.

“This bit’s alright,” he admitted, “but the rest of it gets old rather quickly.”

“Don’t you think the Captain is a bit old for Maria?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “Age is just a number, isn’t it? Funny mortal concept.”

Crowley didn’t reply to that, instead holding out an old leather case. “Here. I’ve brought you some of your old things.”

Aziraphale took the case eagerly, his fingers just brushing Crowley’s. He felt affection bloom like a rose in his chest. His eyes fixed themselves on Crowley’s and refused to look away.

_ There was rubble and death and destruction all around them. But Crowley had kept the books safe. His beautiful books.  _

_ “Lift home?” _

_ Aziraphale could do little more than stare after Crowley as he sauntered too-casually away. His friend. His best friend. Lifetime companion. For all that Aziraphale loved reading, he didn’t believe that some feelings could ever be trapped in words on paper. Certainly not his feelings for Crowley. _

“Oh,” said Aziraphale, resurfacing into the shallows of those seabed-yellow eyes. “We were in a church last time. Was it a church? You had a very jaunty hat, I think.”

“The Blitz. You remember?” Crowley’s grin was marred by a slight tension around his eyes.

“Not all the details. But - you saved me.  _ And _ the books.”

The tension around Crowley’s eyes vanished, and he smiled properly at Aziraphale. “It was no trouble, really.”

Aziraphale was finding it hard to quench the sudden rise of feelings past. He looked up at Crowley. His face felt too vulnerable, as easy to read as one of the priceless books Crowley had saved, but much hotter.

“Are you going to open it, then?”

“Hmm? Oh, yes, of course.” Aziraphale undid the buckle at the top of the case and peered tentatively inside. There were two books. One was very slim and one was very fat. He reached for the fat one, keeping his touch gentle and reverent. He wondered if the pages might remember the touch of his skin, this same skin, thick and clumsy against delicate sharp-sliced paper. 

_ “Delia Smith's Complete Cookery Course,” _ Aziraphale read out. “Is this… a book on how to make food? Oh, Crowley!”

“Yeah, well, don’t get too excited,” said Crowley gruffly. “It’s going to be bloody hard to get the ingredients.”

“Can’t we just miracle them up?”

“Well, yeah, but you - you always said it wasn’t the same.” Aziraphale wished that Crowley would meet his eyes. Such beautiful eyes. They ought to be out and about more, rather than pointed at the ground so often.

“I see. Well, I do thank you. And this little one, another food book?”

“No, that’s, er, fiction. I think.”

Aziraphale squinted at the title. “Maurice.”  _ E. M. Forster. _ That title, it did… it brought something back. A faint image of grass and sunlight and floppy blonde hair. Blue eyes. Affection. No - love.

“Is it - bad?” Crowley asked. His voice carried the faintest of tremors.

Aziraphale shook his head, rearranging his features into a hasty smile. “No, no! I remember it. I think. I’ll have to read it. I really can’t thank you enough, dear.”

“There’s, er, there’s more.” It was hard to tell in the dark, but he thought Crowley’s cheeks might have gotten a little darker. “But I better go. I don’t want to - um - intrude.”

“No,” said Aziraphale quickly, reaching out a hand to grasp Crowley’s arm. “Please stay, Crowley.” 

And Crowley didn’t argue any more. Instead he watched as Aziraphale laid out his old belongings on the grass reverently. 

There were little metal wings on a chain - Crowley explained that these were  _ cufflinks. _ Then Aziraphale had demanded he explain cuffs, and shirts, and clothes. It took a while without any frame of reference beyond  _ Standard Heavenly Robes, White _ .

A strange twisted and ruined contraption of black plastic and metal had apparently used to be  _ sunglasses. _ Oh, Aziraphale remembered sunglasses. 

“You always thought they made you look so cool.”

“Well,” said Crowley. “Didn’t they?”

Aziraphale just shrugged. “I always liked to see your eyes, my dear.”

A few vague choking noises later, Aziraphale’s fingers had come across a little square of fabric. It had a simply marvellous pattern, with stripes going two ways at a right angle. He laughed with glee, bringing it closer to his face for inspection.

“Tartan!” he remembered with glee. “I wish they made robes with this pattern, oh, isn’t it lovely?”

Crowley made some more choking noises.

And the last item. A little box, surprisingly heavy for its size, set with ornate whorls and flowers of silver. Aziraphale prised it open with a thumb. Inside were several dark brown lumps.

“What are they?” He took one up. To his surprise, it started to melt onto his fingers. He dropped it back in the box, and brought one of the brown-smeared fingers to his tongue. 

Oh.  _ Oh.  _

Lord in Heaven, but this was what true bliss tasted like. Aziraphale realized rather too late that he had let out a breathy sigh at the trace of chocolate on his tongue, and clapped his hand over his mouth in embarrassment. He peeked at Crowley.

The angel really wasn’t trying at all to repress his smile. It dripped across his face the same way that a poached egg might spread across toast (Aziraphale was really starting to remember food, thank God). Much like a poached egg, Aziraphale wanted nothing more than to taste every inch of Crowley.

And that - that entirely unexpected and still achingly familiar  _ longing _ \- was more than enough to startle him out of his chocolate-induced reverie.

“Eggs!” he said. “Eggs.”

One of Crowley’s long eyebrows raised into a perfect arch. “Eggs?”

“Yes, er, eggs. I just - just remembered what they taste like.”  _ What do you taste like? I want to -  _ no. No, stop.

“Oh. Congratulations are in order, then, I take it?” And then Crowley was holding out a delicate transparent instrument, something that caught in the light, something that Aziraphale’s reluctant memory identified as a  _ champagne flute.  _

He took it reflexively. There was something inside - a light golden colour, with bubbles. Champagne? “Where did you get this?”

Crowley smirked. “Took a little detour through France. Turns out they take their alcohol basement protection  _ very _ seriously. There’s plenty.” The angel started to reach his champagne flute towards Aziraphale’s.

_ “To the world,” said Crowley, slouched comfortably opposite Aziraphale. And that was it, wasn’t it? What they had been fighting for. What was worth fighting for. The world. And champagne. _

_ “To the world,” Aziraphale echoed, and let their glasses meet with a  _ tink. _ Something passed between them. An understanding. A commitment. _

Aziraphale knew enough about the state of the world to understand that this particular snippet hadn’t been a memory. It hadn’t been pressed so sharply into his mind, instead carrying all the hazy and lovely quality of a daydream.

Crowley was studying him carefully over the flute. “Alright?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Aziraphale. “I only - are you sure we’re allowed alcohol in Heaven?”

Crowley shrugged a shoulder lazily. “Well. Who’s checking?”

A spear of anxiety shot up Aziraphale’s spine. It made him feel a little cold. “I - well. Alright. Just this once, then.” He leaned forwards and let his flute make that little  _ ting _ against Crowley’s.

“I’ll pay the bill, angel,” Crowley murmured, “if we get one.”

“Then I shall taste the wine,” declared Aziraphale. “Well. Champagne.” He lifted the flute to his lips. Sparkling starlight met his tongue, and he sighed. “It’s rather wonderful, don’t you think?”

“Mmm,” said Crowley, who had not tasted the champagne nor taken his eyes off Aziraphale. “Rather.”


	16. Crowley 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _  
I'll find my way through night and day  
'Cause I know I just can't stay here in heaven  
_

Crowley hadn't left until dawn had crested through the Heavens. He'd stayed, and Aziraphale had read him the first few chapters of Maurice, and he'd refused any of the chocolates, preferring to watch Aziraphale eat them, fingers passing into his lips and coming out with a little smear on them. The angel took great pains to lick his finger clean.  _ Waste not, want not, _ he’d say, smirking. Crowley had told himself to stop watching, to leave.  _ Want not. _ Yep. Right.

No, he reflected, trudging the now-familiar path over the dunes, he never  _ wanted _ to leave Aziraphale. He only got the niggling feeling that maybe the angel didn't want him around for so long (he probably didn’t), or that it was too dangerous to stay (it was), or that he had other responsibilities. Which he did. 

"Damned humans," he muttered to himself, but he didn't mean it. It wasn't the humans that were the problem. It was Crowley and his too-big-too-soft heart.

If his heart could have its say… But he hadn't indulged in that kind of fantasy for years. Well, months. Weeks. When was Armageddon, again? He hadn't let himself properly think about it since then at the very least. Mainly because he didn't feel like having his heart broken every day for the next six thousand years. Much easier to take the shattered pieces and keep them somewhere dark and hidden.

It was a bit poky, though. Like having a bunch of spiky things on the inside of your chest, hitting into you with every breath. Every moment you existed, they were there. And they could get so much worse. Ripping into you from within, when thinly-veiled rejection hit. Crowley had been living with the shards for millennia now; dark, hidden, but painful.

Crowley’s brain couldn’t just give up on it. It couldn’t. He’d  _ tried. _ And it just couldn’t. The shards came back now, poking and scratching at him when he tried to breathe, and they carved thoughts onto the inside of him.

_ Aziraphale wouldn’t reject you now. _

He was free, this angel. Wiped of the darkness that millennia inevitably brought. He was curious, and brave, and he so obviously  _ liked _ Crowley.

_ He might take a chance on you now… _

Oh God, oh Satan, oh  _ no. _ No, he couldn’t.  _ Stop it stop it stop it. _ Not while Aziraphale wasn’t really Aziraphale. Not while he didn’t have access to any of the memories Crowley’s heart ached over.

_ He’d let you love him, if you told him you were together before… _

It would be a horrible breach of trust. When Aziraphale's memories came back (if they came back), he would be angry. Worse, he would be  _ hurt.  _ And rightly so. Crowley would not do that to his angel. The shards quivered in anger within him.

But it was bad enough that Crowley was lying about what he was. He kept on forgetting he was doing it, and then Aziraphale would look at him so openly, no trace of wariness, like he never used to, and he'd remember it all over again. 

Well, he was a demon. He was  _ supposed  _ to do things like lie to angels. No matter that he hadn't so much as caught a whiff of Hell since the battle. And - nope. Time to stop  _ that  _ train of thought. He hadn't been fond of his co-workers, but that didn't mean he wanted them to die either.

Crowley was almost back at the camp now. He watched silhouettes around the campfire as they danced. Drifts of song caught on the wind, and Crowley could hear the joy, the love in their voices. 

_ A-ba-ni-bi o-bo-he-bev _

_ A-ba-ni-bi o-bo-he-bev o-bo-ta-bach _

_ Ahavah, hi milah yafah _

_ Hi t'filah yafah, hi safah. _

_ Ahavah, hi elai tovah _

_ Hi tamid titgabeir _

_ Uvisfat ahavah nedaber _

_ A-ba-ni-bi o-bo-he-bev _

_ A-ba-ni-bi o-bo-he-bev o-bo-ta-bach* _

He felt the inferiority and undeservedness creep up his throat.  _ No matter which version of Aziraphale this is, you don't deserve this. Any of it. _

  
  
  


** _* Translation:_ **

_ I love, I love you** _

_ Love, it is a beautiful word _

_ A beautiful prayer, a language _

_ Love, it is good to me _

_ It will overcome all _

_ And we will speak the language of love. _

_ I love, I love you** _

_ ** Adding a ‘b’ sound between each syllable in Hebrew, eg. “ani” becomes “a-ba-ni-bi”. _


	17. Aziraphale 9

More and more of Aziraphale’s memories were coming back. He could remember lots of odd little things, now: the feel of armour as it clanked around his form; a particularly good soup he’d tasted in a little monastery tucked away in the hills of Bulgaria; tunes that wove around his head like a thousand little stars.

He hummed one of them to himself, now. It had a very distinctive rhythm. He wondered if Crowley would know what it was called.

“Aziraphale?” 

He started from where he lay on the grass and sat up quickly, trying not to let his shock show. 

“Gabriel. What a pleasure.”

“A pleasure, is it?” 

“Yes, quite.” Aziraphale smiled as gaily as he could.

The Archangel didn’t look convinced. “I haven’t seen you around much, Aziraphale. Where have you been?”

“Oh, here and there. Mostly just, erm, praying. Reacquainting myself with the Lord.”

Gabriel nodded. “Good. The Lord does like to be well-acquainted with all Her children, Aziraphale. Keep your friends close.”

“And your enemies… er.” Aziraphale had been about to complete the human expression.

Gabriel cocked his head. “How do you know that expression, Aziraphale?”

“I must’ve picked it up from some of the humans wandering about - oh, yes, it was, er, the nuns.”

“The nuns are forbidden to talk,” Gabriel said. “If one of them has been talking, then a Divine Punishment is in order. Do you have names?”

Aziraphale felt his heart drop like a stone. “No, I’m afraid not.”

“Hmm.” Gabriel frowned. “Well, I’ll just have to interrogate them all. Can’t have chatty nuns, it ruins the whole effect.”

“It’s - I mean - yes. Er. You better.” Aziraphale felt sick. He  _ could  _ tell the Archangel the truth about his memories coming back, but he was sure Gabriel would just take them away again.  _ And so he should. _

“Goodbye, Aziraphale.” Gabriel winked out of existence, and Aziraphale buried his head in his hands. A turmoil seized him, wrapping itself around his stomach, his heart, and whatever other organs his corporation had. 

Oh, God, was he dying? It felt like dying, being eaten up from the inside, with doubt, guilt, anger all directed at himself -

_ “Work with me, I’m apologising here,” Crowley said, his face twisted with desperation. Aziraphale could barely hear his next words, so caught up was he with his friend’s reappearance.  _

_ Aziraphale had botched everything up already, in the bandstand. He hadn’t gone with Crowley. He’d told him he didn’t even  _ like _ him. And here he was, back again.  _

_ Alpha Centauri? “No,” Aziraphale said, even before he could think. No, it wouldn’t do. Not at all. They belonged here, on Earth, with its vibrancy and humanity and love. _

_ Of course, that did nothing to soothe his heartache at the expression on Crowley’s face. _

Aziraphale wrenched out of the memory and screwed his face up, curling up into a ball on the grass, gasping for breath. He let the hurt wash over him, the conflict sweep him away. If he only cried enough, surely the pain would drain away.

It didn’t. Aziraphale just thought more about the memory, the terrible argument, how his old self had abandoned Crowley. And Crowley hadn’t told him?  _ Why not? _ Aziraphale trusted Crowley intrinsically now. It was as easy - easier, actually, because he still had to remember to manually expand and contract his lungs - than breathing.

And why had his old self refused with such point-blank determination? It was something that had been bothering him for a while, now. In all his memories of Crowley, there was always an undercurrent of guilt. Crowley was supposed to be off-limits. He knew it deep within him. Forbidden.

_ But why? _

Angels were allowed to be close, weren’t they? To be friends? They had both been stationed on Earth. It was perfectly natural that they would see each other from time to time. So why… why was Crowley, in all of Aziraphale’s memories, forbidden?

There was only one angel to ask.


	18. Crowley 9

Crowley had just reached the broken village of Beit El when he saw Aziraphale. A few more steps, and it was obvious something was wrong.

“Aziraphale,” he said as he got nearer to the angel. “What is it?”

Aziraphale said nothing, wringing his hands, avoiding Crowley’s gaze.

“Angel?”

“It’s - oh - it’s - nothing.”

It was obviously not nothing. Crowley waited while the angel paced and frowned and grimaced.

“Crowley, I don’t understand -” Aziraphale’s breaths were coming in short little gasps that shook through Crowley. “I’m sorry.”

“What for?”

“For - everything. Forgetting. For the other - other me.”

“Well,” said Crowley awkwardly. “Um.”

“I’m sorry you have t-t-to explain everything. For me.”

“It’s no trouble, angel,” said Crowley fiercely. “If it’s anyone’s fault, it’s Heaven’s.”

“Don’t say that so loud,” said Aziraphale, glancing at the sky, then stepping closer to Crowley. “If they - if  _ Gabriel _ \- well. Don’t.”

“Alright, alright,” Crowley said, reaching out to squeeze Aziraphale’s shoulder. He lowered his voice and whispered,  _ “It’s Heaven’s fault.” _

“Crowley!” Aziraphale admonished, swatting at his nose. Crowley screwed up his face. “You’re so - I missed you.”

Crowley grinned, and Aziraphale grinned back, and just like that everything became easy again.

“Do you - er - we don’t have to go back to camp,” Crowley suggested. “We could - I don’t know - go for a walk?”

Aziraphale’s eyes were warm. “I’d like that,” he said. “And perhaps you could tell me some more stories?”

Crowley grinned, and stepped to the space beside Aziraphale. The angel linked their arms, and leaned into him, while Crowley tried not to hyperventilate.

“Stories. Yes. Right.”

“I do so want to hear more about Venice. It sounds so terribly romantic.”

Crowley hoped Aziraphale didn’t hear his little choking noise. “City of romance, yeah,” he said weakly.

“Well, then. Fire away.”

Crowley thought back, shuffling through the mental files he kept labelled  _ Aziraphale. _ Well. It was actually labelled  _ Crowley+Aziraphale Forever, _ but he wasn’t going to admit that to himself.

“You know, there was once a very funny rumour going around about vampires,” he said, grinning to himself as he remembered the details.

“Vampires?”

“Yeah, and they were taking all these virgin sacrifices, right, which wasn’t  _ actually _ Hell’s idea, but you were still very upset about the whole thing. So you posed as some merchant, and you asked me to play along as your daughter - your  _ obviously-virgin _ daughter - and…”

Crowley kept talking while they walked. It was no St James’ Park, but then, it wouldn’t have mattered where they were. Homes, Crowley had learnt, didn’t have to be places. They could be people too.


	19. Aziraphale 10

Aziraphale had decided to follow Crowley back to the camp that morning. It wasn’t as if anyone in Heaven would really miss him - though he better go back at some point, to keep up appearances and all that - and, more to the point, the camp had  _ food. _

Crowley was currently attempting to make crêpes.

“What’s that?” Orli asked, wandering by the campfire. His eyes fixated on the brown-black sludge currently residing on the griddle.

“Never you mind,” Crowley grunted, his face red.

“It’s alright, really, Crowley, you don’t have to -”

“I said I would make you crêpes, angel,” Crowley said between gritted teeth, “and crêpes I will make you.”

“What’s  _ crêpes?” _

“Type of pancake,” Crowley said to the little child. “Now, run along.”

“That’s not a pancake,” Orli pointed out.

Aziraphale regarded the smoking mess. “I think we have to be generous in our categorization of things,” he said. “It is a cake, sort of, because it comes from flour and eggs and milk, and it’s on a pan of sorts. Thus. A pan cake!”

The burnt sludge on the griddle flopped over sadly.

Orli burst out laughing. “You’re so silly, ‘Zira,” he said, and scampered off.

Crowley just looked gloomily at the griddle. “A pan cake, two words, is not the same as a pancake. One word.”

“It’s alright, my dear,” Aziraphale soothed. “I don’t expect I’m missing out on much anyway.”

“You  _ loved  _ crêpes, angel.”

Crowley looked legitimately heartbroken, his brow furrowed and mouth half-open as he tried to scrape the pan-travesty off the griddle. And there it was, as suddenly as it hadn’t been a moment ago.  _ Oh, _ thought Aziraphale.  _ I’m in love with you.  _ It ought to have been scary. The world should have come crashing down around his ears at the very least. As it was, the world merely bobbed about unevenly on the waves of his understanding. He felt a little dizzy.

Not a bad kind of dizzy, but still. Aziraphale needed - space. Space and time to think.

“Er,” he said. “I think I might go back to Heaven now, actually.”

“Oh,” said Crowley, looking up at him, the muscles around his mouth tightening just barely. “Alright. Of course.”

“I just - I’m worried about Gabriel.” This was true.

“Yep.”

“And I don’t want to get you in trouble. You must have more important work to be doing than - pan cakes. Two words,” Aziraphale said, smiling. He made a conscious effort to reign it in a bit - now that he  _ knew, _ he feared he must be the most obvious sod in the history of besotted sods. 

“Oy,” said Crowley, but his heart didn’t seem to be in it. “Alright. Yeah. I do have a bit of - er - miracles and stuff. Lots of stuff to catch up on. Very busy.”

“Then I’ll see you around, my d-dear.”

“Any specific time?” Crowley asked casually. “Just so I know when to, er, expect you, of course.”

“Can I come back tonight?” Aziraphale asked, his heart skipping a beat.  _ Get out, get away, you’re being so  _ obvious… 

“Yes,” Crowley said quickly.

Aziraphale beamed at him, and set off.

Once back in Heaven, Aziraphale sat down next to the little river and plucked up a daisy that was growing next to him. One petal at a time, wasn’t that the human way?  _ He loves me. He loves me not. _ Something like that.

Aziraphale wondered how long his old self had been in love with Crowley. Whether or not Crowley had been in love with him. Had they told each other? Had they been together? It was quite hard to tell in the fleeting glimpses of memory he had. 

The argument he could remember did seem rather like a lover’s spat, though, didn’t it?

And that - of course. Of course, that feeling of  _ forbidden _ and  _ wrong _ and  _ guilty _ he always got around Crowley. Angels weren’t supposed to fall in love, not in so many words. Life partners was a very mortal concept. It wasn’t as though Aziraphale had a last name he could give to Crowley, after all (he liked that idea far too much). Maybe…

But no. Heaven were the good guys. Not even Gabriel would take away his memories for that, would they? A truly merciful angel would never erase love like that, no matter how unexpected it was. But a little seed of doubt niggled at Aziraphale, like a rock in your shoe that you knew was there, but no matter how many times you sat down and shook it, it wouldn’t come out.

The fact that Heaven had taken his memories at all didn’t seem terribly merciful.

Aziraphale tore his thoughts away from that direction, and focussed again on Crowley.  _ Crowley. _

Memories started to come upon him, then, not in the jumpy possession they usually did, but in gentle waves of understanding. 

The longing he’d felt to touch Crowley’s hair. He wanted to weave his fingers through it, to braid and to order, to make something of Crowley’s shaped into something of himself.

Aziraphale wanted to touch his smile, too. The angel didn’t smile so often as he ought to, but when he did, Aziraphale wanted to trace the pads of his fingers over the little crinkles, to find a key that might unlock more of that sumptuous joy. 

He wanted to hear Crowley laugh. His vague memory supplied a few hints of a chuckle, some mild hisses of amusement, but nothing so concrete as he would like. Aziraphale was damned if he wouldn’t do something about that, and soon.

He simply let it all wash over him. The memories, the understanding, they were nothing real. Nothing fixed. His mind was only the shores upon which they grazed and lapped, blessing him with little changes, new shapes of understanding. Over time, perhaps the whole beach would be reformed. Not today. But, given an eternity…

He picked up the little book next to him. He’d read it thrice already, and become completely enamoured with it. Incredible, the hurt humanity was so desperate to inflict on themselves. Incredible that they pursued love despite it all. The inscription -  _ may you find your scruffy gardener _ \- was enough to make him wonder if he hadn’t been through something quite similar already. Aziraphale wouldn’t call Crowley scruffy, and he didn’t garden, but the sentiment remained.

It wouldn’t spoil anything, would it? To - to pursue what he so desperately wanted to know more of? The whole point of the book, which Crowley must have chosen with some reason, surely, was to follow one’s heart.

And Aziraphale, despite himself, was curious. He wanted to understand more. He let the daisy, plucked bare of all its petals, fall to the ground beneath him.

He  _ wanted _ to love Crowley. And he had. And he did. 

And would continue to.


	20. Crowley 10

Aziraphale brought something for Crowley that evening. 

Crowley had been feeling very sorry for himself most of the day, abandoned and solitary, morose and neglected. He’d draped himself dramatically over a rock until he’d gotten a bit too hot in the midday sun, and then sprawled out in the shade. Just because he couldn’t ever possibly act on his feelings didn’t mean that he didn’t want to  _ see _ Aziraphale, all the time, forever.

When the angel finally did arrive, Crowley was waiting for him at the base of the ladder, and was very surprised to see a shape held in Aziraphale’s mouth.

“For you,” the angel said when he reached the bottom, taking the rose out of his mouth and offering it up to Crowley. His eyes had gone intensely blue.

Crowley’s mind had gone intensely blank.

“Er,” he said, his hand curling around the rose and taking it. “I - wha-huh?”

“It’s for you,” Aziraphale said, as if this explained everything.

Crowley blinked, looked at the rose (it was lovely, even if it smelt a little too Heavenly for his taste), looked at Aziraphale, and shuffled his feet awkwardly. “Right. Er. Thanks, then.”

“You’re very welcome,” said Aziraphale warmly. “I thought we might go somewhere different, tonight.”

“Oh?”

“Well, I’d - I’d really quite like to see more of the world, I think.”

Crowley scrunched up his nose. “It’s not in the best shape.”

“I know,” Aziraphale smiled. “But I’d like to see it, all the same.” 

And then downy white wings were out and Aziraphale was so very close to Crowley and his hands were tightening around him and oh God Crowley was never going to recover from this. 

“Put your arms around my waist,” said Aziraphale, his voice coming right next to Crowley’s ear, his soft cheek brushing just a little against Crowley’s. “And hold tight.”

“I can fly, you know,” Crowley mumbled, obeying Aziraphale’s instructions to the letter.

“Yes, well, I suppose I just wanted to do something for you, tonight.” Before Crowley could process that, Aziraphale’s wings beat once, twice, and they soared into the air just a little more easily than was gravitationally possible. Crowley clung tight, fisting his hands in the fabric of Aziraphale’s robe. He wasn’t particularly worried about falling - Aziraphale wouldn’t drop him - but it was just nice to hold him close.

“Where are we going?” Crowley asked, turning his head against Aziraphale’s cheek. His lips brushed the angel’s ear, and he jerked back instinctively.

Aziraphale made a non-committal noise. “I had rather thought you might give me directions, dear.”

Crowley was unable to contain a soft smile. He thought about where they might go. Most of his memories with Aziraphale centred around food, which was obviously going to be a bit of a problem, with all the civilized structures of the world melted to ash.

But then a faint recollection of warm waters and soft sand slipped into his consciousness.

“North,” he said into Aziraphale’s neck. “North, and a bit West. I think I know a place you’ll like.”

Varna had been a beautiful place when Crowley had visited thirty years ago. The whole town was flanked by a beach that was golden and sparkling, soft and smooth, just the way that beaches ought to be. Now, though, the tiled fountains had been reduced to heaps of rubble that were only slightly more glittery than the others.

Crowley would never get used to senseless destruction, and the hopeless pit of rage it opened within him.

“Anywhere in particular?”

“The beach,” said Crowley, swallowing down the lump in his throat. “Anywhere there is fine.”

They landed a little harder than Crowley expected, toppling over and tangling together on the sand. Aziraphale’s weight pressed down on him, insistent and warm, and he looked up in time to see his angel’s face flush bright red.

“Oof - er - sorry.” Aziraphale rolled off him, landing on the sandy shore. “Are you alright?”

“More than,” Crowley said, breathless for entirely the wrong reason.

“Why here, then?” asked the angel, looking around with bright eyes. “Any reason?”

“We used to come here to bathe,” said Crowley. “Every century or so. Our little ritual.”

Aziraphale smiled shyly. “Oh, that sounds lovely. Shall we, then?”

If there was one thing Crowley had not been prepared for, it was for Aziraphale to reach down and pull his robe off, and Christ, why wasn’t he wearing  _ anything _ underneath? Crowley immediately turned his eyes skywards, feeling the breath rush out of him.

“Are you alright?”

“Just fine, angel,” Crowley said quickly, snapping his fingers to vanish his own robes, fighting his blush. “Let’s go, shall we?”

Aziraphale held out a hand so expectantly that Crowley didn’t even think before taking it and being tugged towards the ocean. He let himself be propelled, entirely too overwhelmed to think when Aziraphale intertwined their fingers.

The water was just as warm as he remembered it. It was more black than blue in this light, lapping at their legs, then their hips, and then their necks as they submerged themselves. Aziraphale let go of Crowley’s hand as their feet lifted off the bottom, needing it to steady himself.

Crowley let his legs come up, lying back against the tense skin of the ocean, spreadeagled to face the night sky. He chanced a glance at Aziraphale, who was treading water with a strange expression on his face.

“Everything alright?” Crowley asked gently.

Aziraphale nodded, looking at him. “I remember this,” he said, and his expression smoothed out. “I remember the water, and the strange heat that the sand gives off at night. And I… I remember you.”

“Oh,” said Crowley.

“You used to have even longer hair,” said Aziraphale. “What happened to it?”

“Well, I cut it.”

“But why?” He sounded despairing, as if Crowley must have done it to personally injure him.

“I just like trying out different things, angel.”  _ But if you don’t like it, I’ll change it in a heartbeat. _

“It’s lovely like this, too, Crowley, but I did so adore your very long curls. When they dried, the saltwater made them so poofy. Do you remember?”

Crowley did remember. He remembered losing three hairbrushes to the mess before he’d miracled it better.

“I can’t remember what it was like to run my hand through them, though,” said Aziraphale.

Crowley choked on air, and sputtered as if he was coming up for it. “We - uh - no?” 

“May I?”

Crowley breathed in, closed his eyes, convinced himself that this was really happening, and nodded. Aziraphale came very close first, resting a hand on Crowley’s shoulder to steady himself in the water. His other hand came up to Crowley’s hair, and gently carded through it. Once. Twice. Again. Again.

Crowley thought he had never experienced anything quite as tender or as satisfying.  _ Or as wrong, _ a voice whispered in his head.  _ He’s not the same Aziraphale. Not the real Aziraphale. And neither of them would ever go for you. Not the way you want. _

“Thank you,” said Aziraphale after a few moments. “I shall commit the feeling to memory.”

“Unghm,” said Crowley, with feeling. Aziraphale seemed to understand what he was trying to say, even if Crowley didn’t.

They returned to the shore silently, sitting on the beach. The sheen of droplets against Aziraphale’s skin glittered in the moonlight, the curls around the base of his neck damp and bedraggled, his expression peaceful. His eyes were closed, which made it much easier for Crowley to stare without feeling self-conscious.

Eventually, Aziraphale opened his eyes, and Crowley did his best impression of having just looked over. The angel smiled. Crowley feared his deception may have failed.

“Thank you for bringing me here,” said Aziraphale, his voice gentle as the hand which now rested on Crowley’s. “It’s lovely.”

For a beat, it was all Crowley could do not to drape himself over Aziraphale, to melt to him and cling to his side, to wrap his scales around the angel.

“You’re lovely,” said Aziraphale, and the longing got worse.

Crowley looked away and got up, miracling his robe on, before he did anything stupid. “It has been, er, lovely, angel, but you better be getting back to Heaven. Right?”

“Well, yes, but I don’t have to go quite so soon… Crowley?”

Crowley turned back, hands trembling. “Yes?”

“Sit with me a little while longer?”

Blessed if he did, blessed if he didn’t. Crowley let his legs carry him back to Aziraphale. It was so terribly hard to break orbit, especially when his angel looked at him like that - naked and promising and with rushing water kissing the beach at his feet.

Crowley sat.


	21. Aziraphale 11

Aziraphale had never known peace like this.

The water rushed in and nipped playfully at his toes, and rushed out, leaving damp, sleek sand in its wake. He mirrored the motion on Crowley’s hand, letting his thumb glide one way and then the other. He felt - centred. Complete. There was nothing he could want for, here at the edge of the world, on the edge of  _ something  _ with Crowley, and yet perfectly balanced. Less of a knife edge, and more of a rolling ball at the top of a hill. An inevitable transition.

Crowley began humming, his voice resonating pleasantly. Aziraphale wanted to curl up, rest his head on Crowley’s chest, and feel the vibrations against his ear. 

“What’s that you’re humming?” he asked instead.

Crowley shot him a lazy smirk. “You wouldn’t like it.”

“But I do,” Aziraphale protested. He leaned closer. “Tell me.”

“It was a tune I used to sing to Warlock, the - the - the Antichrist who wasn’t the Antichrist.”

“It’s beautiful,” Aziraphale breathed. He leaned closer.

How did one do this? He felt as if he were on the verge of creating some work of art, designing a grand structure, having never so much as built a sandcastle. He wanted so badly for this to be beautiful. In the daydream he’d been playing on repeat, Crowley leaned further into him, and blinked up at him, and kissed him back.

“Crowley,” he whispered, bringing a hand to the angel’s shoulder, curving Crowley’s body towards him. “I’ve been meaning to ask you something.”

Crowley’s lip trembled. Aziraphale would have missed it if his eyes weren’t routinely flicking down to Crowley’s mouth. “Anything, angel.”

Aziraphale took a deep breath and refocused on Crowley’s eyes. “All of my memories. They’re all… well. All of the ones I have, of me and you… there’s something… off.” Crowley’s eyebrow jumped. “It feels - as if there’s something looming over us. As if we shouldn’t be talking, or… I don’t know. I know it sounds silly. Oh, goodness, I’m making a mess of this.”

“I - you - you’re not the mess,” said Crowley, biting his lip. Without thinking, Aziraphale leaned forwards, stroking a hand over the sore spot, healing Crowley’s self-inflicted injury. He didn’t move his hand away. 

“You’re not a mess,” said Aziraphale. He didn’t know why he’d started whispering. “You’re not. You’re the most beautiful creature I’ve ever known, Crowley.”

Crowley squeezed his eyes shut. Aziraphale wiped away a single drop of moisture that leaked from one. 

“You haven’t known very many creatures, then.” Crowley was whispering too.

“I think I’ve figured it out,” Aziraphale murmured, moving his hand to cup Crowley’s cheek. He leaned in further, and tipped his forehead against Crowley’s. He paused there, giving the angel a chance to leave. To pull away.

Crowley did startle, stiffening slightly, but he didn’t move away. “Oh?” he whispered.

Aziraphale tried to fit the words into his mouth, his lips working over the different shapes of them.  _ We were in love. I was in love. I am still in love. With you. _

Instead, he kissed Crowley.

Lips were soft, Aziraphale realized much too late to process it. They were so soft that he might never stop. Crowley’s mouth was hesitant against his, chaste, closed. Aziraphale had never felt anything better.

And then Aziraphale kissed harder, and Crowley opened his mouth, and he made such a noise in the back of his throat that Aziraphale’s thoughts liquefied out of all coherence and flooded him in a wave of wanting. 

“Angel,” Crowley sighed into his mouth,.

Aziraphale smiled against him, but didn’t stop kissing. He pulled Crowley closer, bare skin against cloth robe, and kissed and kissed and kissed. 

Tongues, it turned out, were also soft. They just had the added bonus of being wet. Crowley’s tongue… it was heaven, except not  _ that _ sort of Heaven, it was hills and crags and bursts of pleasure rather than the flat, dull expanse of Divinity. Crowley’s tongue said things, such wondrous things, to Aziraphale.

“Mmmmngk,” Crowley moaned, low and quiet. Aziraphale paused to graze teeth gently over his lower lip.

“Oh, Crowley,” he whispered. “You’re so beautiful.” 

“No, you,” said Crowley loquaciously, and kissed him again. Aziraphale responded enthusiastically before pulling away again. Crowley chased him, bringing a hand to his hair, but Aziraphale tutted at him. 

“I have to tell you,” he said softly. “I need to tell you, Crowley. I. Oh gosh.” He took a deep breath. “I’m in lo-” 

Crowley clapped a hand over Aziraphale’s mouth. “No,” he said. 

“But -”

“Angel, no. No. Oh, for Satan’s sake, argh…” He dropped his hand, and let his head fall forwards. “Why did you have to - oh - fuck - no. No, I’m not doing this. I’m sorry, angel.”

Crowley hastily extricated himself out of Aziraphale’s frozen embrace, scrambling backwards on the sand. Aziraphale was too shocked to argue when he manifested his wings, took one last look, and soared off into the night.

Aziraphale watched the angel become a smudge become a blur become a dot become nothing.

_ For  _ Satan’s  _ sake…? _


	22. Crowley 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Time can bring you down, time can bend your knees  
Time can break your heart, have you begging please, begging please_

The sobs took over Crowley’s body before long, guiding his wings into a drift downwards, coming to rest on an abandoned dirt road. He lay there, his body sprawled face down in the mud, and wept. Oh, but  _ why  _ did Aziraphale have to kiss him? Why did he have to say something like that, something that changed everything?

Well, Crowley knew why, of course. Aziraphale was labouring under some impression that they had been  _ lovers _ in their past life. Oh God, what a nightmare. A complete nightmare. And Aziraphale had gone and gotten his feelings all tangled up in it.

The problem wasn’t the kissing, really. Nor even the confession. Crowley would have been perfectly happy to hear it, if there hadn’t been all the complications, their history rearing its ugly head just in time to make Crowley see sense. The old Aziraphale, the  _ real _ Aziraphale… would never have done this.

Crowley pushed his face further into the dirt, letting the stones rasp at his skin. He missed the old Aziraphale. Even if he had been a bit of a bastard, and he’d learnt all these ridiculous tactics for covering up his emotions, building walls around him so high Crowley had learnt not to try for fear of falling. He just wanted to talk to his friend again. Maybe he’d be able to give Crowley some much-needed advice.

_ Dear Aziraphale,  _ Crowley composed in his head,  _ I’ve been rather an idiot. There’s this young angel, bright and innocent, and what I’ve done is corrupted him and tried to bring about all the things that could never have been the first time. It’s been entirely selfish. But you see, I couldn’t help it, because I love you. Him. _ Fuck. Crowley raised his head and let it fall back down on the pebbles with a dull thud.  _ Yours, Crowley. _

What would Aziraphale reply? The real Aziraphale?

_ Dear Crowley, It does sound a bit of a pickle, but I’m sure you’re exaggerating. Come and have a drink, and we’ll talk it over. Pip-pip. Yours, Aziraphale. _

Crowley bit his lip so hard it bled, and tried not to let the sob wrench out of him. Aziraphale had never signed a letter off with  _ yours, _ nor  _ love. _ He wouldn’t. He would never. It was crossing a line. It had always been crossing a fucking line as soon as Crowley had realized what exactly it was he wanted. 

_ You go too fast for me, Crowley. _

It was too much, to hear the words coming from his angel’s lips now, where Aziraphale had been. It was a harsh mimicry, affection twirled neatly into a bow and handed to him just like he’d always wanted, but not like this not like this  _ not like this. _ Aziraphale didn’t even know he was a fucking  _ demon _ . Fuck. 

It would be too easy to fall prey. This Aziraphale was confident. This Aziraphale took  _ risks. _ Crowley would be dead in the water if he stuck around, he’d succumb eventually to those kisses, that mouth, oh God that  _ mouth. _ It had to be some sort of cosmic joke, didn’t it? Something along the lines of the dinosaurs. Nothing else could possibly be that perfect. Crowley could cry just thinking about kissing Aziraphale, the way their lips had slid together, a gentle passion, a tender love.

Crowley lay there for a long time. He rolled over onto his back eventually, and watched the sunrise. He still had dirt on his face, stones clinging to his cheeks. 

He had never felt less worthy.


	23. Aziraphale 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _Beyond the door there's peace I'm sure  
And I know there'll be no more tears in heaven_

Aziraphale didn’t know how he had found this place. It was some kind of huge white marble hall. The floor was very cold on his feet, despite the warm breezes of Heaven that flowed through the pillars. He walked forwards in a daze.

He had stayed on the beach for a long time before returning to Heaven. Days, weeks, Aziraphale couldn’t say. He had wandered aimlessly around the flat grasses for another nameless stretch of time, before spotting a white smudge in the distance.  _ Why not, _ he’d thought, and walked towards it.

Anything to pull him out of his worried and churning thoughts.

“Hello?” he called, padding forwards cautiously. “Is there anyone there?”

“Aziraphale,” a voice called. “Come in. We’ve been expecting you.” The voice sounded young, like a child’s. A cherubim? Aziraphale walked through the forest of spiraling white pillars and through a faintly glowing entranceway.

Space was not clearly defined inside. It didn’t bother Aziraphale, who needed space in the same way that ducks needed bicycles. If he had been human, it would have looked a little like space had been first divided up into little strips, folded into intricate flowers, and set floating about a roughly donut-shaped atmosphere. 

He wasn’t human, though, and he entered the place - the not-place, rather - easily.

_ Hello?  _ he asked again.  _ Who are you? _

_ You won’t remember me, _ said the voice. Everything about the voice was suddenly displayed to Aziraphale; golden curls; blue eyes; a dog; a boy. Adam.  _ There. Now you do. _

_ I didn’t know you were still alive. _

_ I rule the world now. Actually, it’s been very boring. _

Aziraphale blinked his many eyes in a shuddering motion that translated loosely to a mortal laugh.  _ Well, you did end everything. What did you expect? _

_ I don’t know. Something else. Anyway, how are you, Aziraphale? _

Aziraphale shrugged (wiggled one of his backwards feet). 

_ No, really. How are you? _

Aziraphale didn’t want to tell him.  _ I’m fine. _

_ You have been meeting with Crowley. _

Well, that was the cat out of the bag.  _ Yes. _

_ What do you think, then? _

_ Of Crowley? _

_ Yes. _

_ I think Crowley is - he is very sad. He is broken in ways that this version of myself cannot repair. But I wish I could. I will try, at least. If he’ll let me. _

_ I can fix him for you. _

_ No, _ Aziraphale said hurriedly.  _ No. Not that kind of fixing. He needs mortal time to pass, and to spend it in mortal space, and to - I don’t know. To talk to someone. To love. _

_ He loves you very much, _ Adam said casually, and Aziraphale’s heart-equivalent gave an unappetizing squelch.  _ So why can’t you fix him? _

_ I - I’m not - I’m not the me that he loves right now.  _ Aziraphale’s heart-equivalent was jostling around like a jelly now, and he didn’t like it.  _ He needs the other me. The real me.  _ It was strange, to feel out of place in your own life. If the real him came back, would he remember any of this new him? Would he just be - lost? Would Crowley care?

_ You are the real you,  _ said Adam.  _ You just can’t see it.  _

_ I would very much like my memories back, though. _

_ I can give them to you.  _

Aziraphale’s heart-equivalent leapt into his throat-equivalent - quite a feat, considering it was floating twenty feet above his head-equivalent.  _ You can? _

_ For a price. _

_ Anything. I mean - almost anything. _

_ Fall. _

Aziraphale wasn’t sure he had heard correctly.  _ Fall? _

_ Fall from Grace, Aziraphale, and you will have your memories back.  _

_ I’ll never be able to come back to Heaven?  _

_ Never. _

_ What else will happen? _

_ You’ll smell a bit different, I think. _

Aziraphale had an inkling that Falling might be a bigger deal than he was currently giving it credit for. But then, what was a little Grace, compared to the memories of everything he and Crowley had had before? Surely Crowley would not love him any less. At least Aziraphale would be able to  _ understand. _

_ Will it hurt? _

_ No. They closed up all the burning pools of sulfur a couple of weeks ago. _

_ Right, then. I accept. _

_ You’ll Fall? _

Aziraphale nodded (well, his left eye-equivalents fluttered), and then his body-equivalent was sprung back into mortal space. He came back to his fingers, his toes, his head. He melted back into the core of himself just in time to feel it start burning.

And Aziraphale Fell.


	24. Crowley 12

It was dark and peaceful around the campfire. Crowley sat on a log and tried not to look moody while he darned some of Orli’s shorts. The crackling of the fire, usually soothing, was getting on his nerves today.

“Where’s your friend?” asked Amal, coming to sit next to him. 

“None of your business,” he muttered, stabbing the fabric with a little more force than needed.

Amal held up his hands. “Alright, alright. I’m just -  _ we’re _ \- worried. You’ve been a bit, well.”

“Pissed?” Crowley let out a bitter chuckle. “I wonder why that could be.”

“If it’s got something to do with Aziraphale, you can te-”

“It has  _ nothing _ to do with him,” Crowley snarled. “Now just - piss off, alright?” He made the clicking noise with his tongue that Eliana had taught him. He had been finding it very useful to indicate his general disapproval and bad intentions.

Amal sighed, but left him alone. Crowley squinted at the khaki pockets he was sewing up, feeling personally victimized by their resistance to just  _ coming together, _ goddammit. Orli liked to collect little rocks during the day, and as such, his short pockets had suffered greatly.

Crowley looked up at the night sky. Quick as a flash, a shooting star blinded past, and Crowley found himself wishing it would bring his angel back to him.


	25. Aziraphale 13

An angel no more, Aziraphale Fell

and Fell

and Fell

and Fell.

It didn’t hurt. It was more visceral than that. Mortal bodies were wired for a very specific type of pain, for the bruises and cuts that resulted from life, that oh-so-human concept, for the rays that scorched from the Sun. And so Aziraphale’s mortal body did not hurt.

In that deep place within him, though, where his immortal form resided… Well. His brain was thrown immediately back to a book he had read, quite recently, when it first came out. It had an interesting interpretation of the Soul, and the two parts that made it up; a human and an animal-shaped daemon. Aziraphale had been particularly struck by the part where the Soul was divided. It was necessary, for their greater purpose. The children had to leave their precious daemons behind, the physical manifestation of them and their spirit, the constant conversational partner that is innate in the mind.

That was what Aziraphale thought might be happening to him, and it briefly struck him to wonder if Philip Pullman had ever met Crowley, before the memories started to flood his head.

He was travelling downwards at a very high speed, spinning and spinning and spinning as he Fell, and yet it was really just like swimming towards the Earth. It was peaceful and quiet here, cold and brisk and meditative, but for the wrenching half of his soul that seemed determined to stay in the clouds. It pulled at him desperately, a great metaphysical hand around his heart, squeezing and squeezing and yet Falling further away from him, until he wasn’t sure if he hadn’t Fallen after all, if it wasn’t his Grace that was instead Falling. 

He had never been more aware of his true self.

For once, he was isolated from all the Divinity, taken apart from the inherent Good that had always been there, casting light over his mind. 

Aziraphale Fell 

and Fell 

and Fell. 

And as he Fell, the memories came back to him.

_ I am an angel, and you are a demon. _

_ There is no our side, Crowley! _

_ We may both have started off as angels, but you are Fallen. _

_ Salutaria! _

_ You go too fast for me, Crowley. _

_ Crowley's been down here just as long as I have, and he's wily and cunning and brilliant. _

_ I forgive you. _

_ I forgive you.  _

_ I forgive you. _

And even as his Grace departed, grew thinner and thinner until only an Emptiness resided within him, yearning and hollow, the memories began to flow thick and fast. Six thousand years of - well, everything. It had been boring at first, guard duty, a tree, a wall, and then the main act began. Crowley. Crowley, grinning at him beneath his glossy red curls. Crowley, objecting to killing children. Crowley, Crowley, Crowley. A demon. An inherent enemy of all that was Good. A friend. And the great love of Aziraphale’s endless life.

The hollow space within him suddenly didn’t feel quite so terrible. The ground didn’t seem quite so far away. The wrenching of his Soul ceased, and Aziraphale was hit by a terrible realization that he was about to finish Falling, and be hit by another terrible realization. 

The ground.


	26. Crowley 13

_ BOOM. _

Crowley jumped nearly out of his skin at the sudden sound, looking around wildly. A pillar of smoke bloomed into the night, easy to spot with his sensitive eyes. Oh fuck. Angels? Was it angels? If it was, they were all fucked. Crowley internally blessed himself for letting his demonic energies lead them so close to the camp. Fuck, fuck,  _ fuck. _

You can probably imagine how surprised Crowley was to find that it was not, in fact, angels. It wasn’t even one singular angel.

The smoke was bitter and acrid and horribly familiar. Crowley banished his encroaching flashback right to the tiniest dustiest corner of his mind, and ran to the slouched figure, half-buried in the sand, a little smoky crater of impact around him.

“Hey,” he said gently. He’d been through this in his head; what he’d do, in this situation. He’d wished someone had been gentle with him. “Are you okay?”

The figure rolled over with a groan, flopping onto the burning hot sand without wincing. Crowley glimpsed white-blonde curls, impossibly messy and slightly tinged with smoke. Crowley made himself look closer, and saw the unmistakable features of the only true friend he’d ever had the honour to know. 

_ “Aziraphale?” _ Crowley would have been proud to report that his voice was a normal level of steadiness, a very regular tone, with nothing particularly of note going awry. His voice had, in fact, zoomed straight through several registers and aimed for the highest that was still within human hearing ranges - barely. 

Aziraphale groaned. His arm flopped limply across his chest.

Holy  _ fuck. _ Crowley gave himself two seconds to panic, to hyperventilate, to clench his fists and freak out just as much as he needed about this. 

_ Aziraphale’s a demon he’s just Fallen and you’ve spent days weeks months years on all the angel-demon bullshit and he just goes and steamrolls it all with his innocence and dumbness well how dare he demon is  _ my _ thing _ I _ get to be insecure but now there’s no divide he can be mine  _ he can be mine  _ he’ll never be yours you idiot stop it stop it even if you were an Archangel you’d never be worthy stop thinking about this he needs you right now it doesn’t matter what he is he’s your friend your friend your friend so  _ take care of him.

Then it was over, and he had wished, he had  _ wished _ that someone would’ve been gentle with him. Tended his wounds. Told him that everything would be alright.

“Hey now, shh, shh, it’s okay,” he murmured, leaning forwards and gathering his angel - angel? - yes,  _ angel  _ \- in his arms. “I’ve got you. You’re safe now.”

Aziraphale made a sharp whining noise in the back of his throat and shifted closer to Crowley, his hands reaching for Crowley’s jacket and folding the fabric around them. A lump rose in Crowley’s throat. He swallowed it back down.

“You’re okay now,” he said gently. “It’s okay.”

He took Aziraphale to the little stream nearby. It wasn’t much more than a trickle, but he used it to wash the dust and ash from Aziraphale’s face, to rinse him of the odour that had nothing to do with his angel and everything to do with the harsh atmospheric friction of Falling. He fussed over Aziraphale’s wings, no longer a pure white but a pale grey, running fingers through the feathers, brushing the dust and grit out of them. 

And Aziraphale still didn’t speak. He didn’t open his eyes. He held them shut, and kept his face tight and closed off. He did squeeze Crowley’s hand when he made to move away, though, and nodded when Crowley spoke to him. 

When Crowley couldn’t think of anything else to do, he sat across from Aziraphale, cross-legged, and took his angel’s hands. “Alright, angel?”

Aziraphale took a deep breath. He opened his eyes. They were still blue, but duller now. No - not duller, exactly. Stormy, with currents flowing through them. They didn’t freeze Crowley where he stood anymore; no, now they pulled him in, sunk him to the depths of Aziraphale, and kept him there.

“I am, actually. Alright. Not an angel, though.”

Crowley winced. “I -”

“Not any more than  _ you _ are, anyway.” Crowley froze. 

“What?” he croaked.

Aziraphale’s face rose, and fell, and lost its thunder. “I - I - I got my memories back.”

Crowley’s brain exploded, and immediately began the familiar process of compartmentalizing. Put it all back. Put this away. But this time, he couldn’t.

“You - I - oh - Aziraphale?” he asked, his voice suddenly no more than a whisper. 

“It’s me, Crowley,” he smiled, tears starting to well in those fiery blue eyes. “It’s really me this time.”

Crowley’s arms lunged before he could help himself, and then he had Aziraphale, had him right where he wanted him, securely in his embrace. “Aziraphale,” he said, pressing his face into the angel’s shoulder, “Aziraphale, Aziraphale, Aziraphale.” 

The last time Crowley had lunged for him like this, his angel hadn’t recognized him. Now, though, he slid warm arms around Crowley, held him close and let himself be pulled even closer. He whispered Crowley’s name back, with a reverence that might have actually broken Crowley if he hadn’t been so thoroughly dismantled already.

Eventually Crowley’s breathing deepened, and he didn’t feel so panicked. He pulled back to look at Aziraphale but didn’t dare to let go of him. 

Something had changed, here. Something deep and unyielding. And Crowley knew it wasn’t only Aziraphale’s immortal soul Falling.

“So,” Crowley got out, looking away from Aziraphale. “What now?”

“Aren’t you going to apologise?”

Crowley stared at his angel. “For…?”

“For lying to me!” Aziraphale’s eyes were round and indignant, but his tremulous smile gave him away. Crowley did actually owe him an apology, though. A huge one.

“Oh, God, Aziraphale,” and it was funny how they both winced at that now, “I’m so sorry. I never meant to lie. I only thought you - well - I didn’t want - you would have pushed me away. You would have cast me out of Heaven, wouldn’t you?”

Aziraphale raised his eyebrows. “Would I have?”

Crowley shrugged, biting his lip. “I don’t know. That’s why I lied. I’m sorry.”

His angel’s face softened as easily as a tissue under water. “It’s alright. And, oh gosh, where are my manners? I ought to thank you. For taking such good care of me.”

“Oh, it was nothing,” Crowley mumbled, waving a hand faux-casually.

“Not just now,” Aziraphale insisted. “I mean before, too. When I didn’t have any memories. You could have - well, you could have done anything you wanted.”

Crowley froze. His mouth froze, too, most unfortunately. After a moment of silence, Aziraphale went on.

“You could have had your way with me. I… Well. I wanted you to.”

Crowley’s face heated in a way that had nothing to do with the warm night air. “Oh?” he managed.

“I still do.”

Crowley’s lips froze, unfroze, froze, and trembled. He licked them nervously, and chanced a glance at Aziraphale. His angel was just sitting there. Well - not just. Just sitting there would imply there wasn’t anything else going on to be read. 

His eyes, for one. They hadn’t stopped pulling on Crowley since he’d seen them, a new level of temptation forming in those stormy waters, and Aziraphale was blinking quite rapidly now. His hands were trembling in Crowley’s. His shoulders were shaking -  _ wait. _

“Are you -?” Crowley asked, self-indulgent awkwardness forgotten, leaning forwards. 

“I’m quite alright,” said Aziraphale, and promptly burst into tears. 

Crowley hesitated for a fraction of a second before leaning forwards and once more gathering the angel into his arms. “There, there,” he said, petting a hand carefully over Aziraphale’s bright curls. “You’re alright, aren’t you?”

“Oh,  _ Crowley,” _ Aziraphale sobbed, and reached up for his face. Crowley let him. He let Aziraphale gather himself up, this time, pull himself together, and face him. “Crowley,” he said again. “I am so sorry.”

“What the fuck?” said Crowley before he could help himself. “No, no, I mean - what? Why?”

“For seducing you,” Aziraphale cried. “Oh, I was so young and arrogant! So sure and carefree! And all I wanted was to know things, all that reckless curiosity, Crowley, all for you. Oh, Go- Satan, I mean. It’s all for you.”

Crowley’s mouth hung open for a few seconds before he had the presence of mind to snap it shut.  _ “Seducing me?!” _

“Well, what else do you call it? Dilly-dallying? Frolicking amongst a Heavenly field of wildflowers? Taking a perfectly innocent naked beach swim -”

_ “Aziraphale,” _ Crowley cut in, before this could get any more embarrassing. “I… You didn’t  _ seduce _ me. Not like that.”

Aziraphale’s whirlpool eyes flicked to his with surprise. “I didn’t?”

“I - you - no. No. Angel, you’ve had me under your spell for, er, a while. Longer than the end of the world, anyway.” 

Aziraphale blinked. “I have?”

Crowley couldn’t believe, he simply could not believe, how dumb his angel could be. “Obviously.”

“Huh.” 

Crowley would have felt smug at rendering Aziraphale speechless if he were capable of having any human emotions beyond  _ ngk  _ at this point. Aziraphale stared at his shoulder for one, two, three seconds, and then seemed to reboot.

“For how long?” Aziraphale asked.

Crowley shrugged a shoulder lazily.  _ If I play this as casually as I can, maybe it won’t sound so bad?  _

“Oh, well. You know. Six thousand years, six months, seventeen days. Or something.”

“And eight hours?” If Crowley hadn’t been keeping count, he would have known Aziraphale was teasing. But he had. And so he knew.

“You - what?” was all he could say.

“Oh dear,” said Aziraphale. “This is a bit embarrassing, actually.”

“What is?” Crowley asked quickly.  _ Please. Please. Please. Say it. _

“I - well. You’ve had me under your spell too, my dear. You know that, don’t you? You must. By now.”

Crowley blushed. “Well. Your, er, old - new? - self, at least.”

“I am still him,” smiled Aziraphale, “as you are still the you you were when I fell in love with you. My darling.”

At this point, Crowley didn’t know how he was supposed to cope with yet another earth-shattering, star-defying revelation.

“Oh,” he said lamely.

“Six thousand years, six months, and, well, twenty-four days. Seven hours. If you must know.” Aziraphale’s eyes were light with joy. It was exactly the feeling that Crowley had always thought his plants ought to exude during their spring bloom. It was hope and warmth, sure and true.

“A week?” he got out. “What - we hadn’t even met?”

Aziraphale blushed, and looked down. Crowley’s hand was on his chin, pulling his face up, before he could help himself. “I had rather an overactive imagination,” Aziraphale mumbled. “You were just - strutting around, flaunting yourself, eating all the human’s fruit. What was I  _ supposed _ to do?”

“And so you fell in  _ love _ with me?” The words echo and ripple through his consciousness as he speaks them.

“Quite, my dear. Quite - well, very deeply.”

“And - now?” Crowley asked, his heart hammering at his throat. 

Aziraphale’s smile bloomed again in that heartachingly perfect way he had. “I have fallen for you, Crowley, in three different ways, three different times. I am yours. For better or for worse. I love you.”

Crowley closed his eyes, because he couldn’t quite let it all in. He worked through it, piece by piece. He let the tears come to his eyes, because maybe they would help with this great burning  _ thing _ that had just increased in volume inside him.

“I love you too,” he choked out, and then Aziraphale’s face was right there, so close, and his hand was on Aziraphale’s cheek, and why, why was it wet? But then it didn’t matter, because Aziraphale had kissed him surely, properly, truly, and he kept kissing him, kept those lips on his.

Crowley let his tears run as he kissed his angel, saltwater running between them, hands running through hair. Aziraphale was making little noises, humming and giving out faint little whines as they kissed, and Crowley thought it might just end him then and there.

“I love you,” Aziraphale murmured again against his lips. He pushed Crowley down, down onto the sand of the desert they had walked so many years ago, and kissed his jaw, his neck, his ears, his cheeks, one declaration of love for each kiss.

“I love you too, Aziraphale, ‘Ziraphale, angel,  _ angel,” _ Crowley gasped when his tongue began working again. “Love you. Love you so much.”

Aziraphale sighed sweetly, and Crowley felt something deep shift within him. He twisted his hips and flipped them so that he had Aziraphale pinned. 

Aziraphale’s rosy cheeks and dark eyes were worth it. His angel gasped and smiled a delighted,  _ wicked _ smile. “You  _ demon.” _

The word wound its way through Crowley, water trickling through the cracks of a dam, and unease started to well within him. He loosened his grip on Aziraphale. 

“Crowley?” Aziraphale put a hand on his cheek, not letting him turn his face away. “What is it? Did I say something?”

Crowley kissed his angel’s palm gently, and didn’t say anything, the faint scent of fire lingering over his lips.

“Tell me,” Aziraphale insisted. Crowley bit his lip and wished he could just rewind time. Why did he have to ruin everything? If he’d just laughed it off, Aziraphale’s brow wouldn’t be folded in on itself with worry.

“It’s fine,” he said. “I just - it’s fine.”

Aziraphale gave him a look that translated directly to  _ bitch, please.  _ “Tell me,” he said again.

Crowley sighed and flopped onto Aziraphale’s chest. “Demon,” he whispered. “It’s just - that word.”

Aziraphale was quiet for a moment. He brought a hand up to run through the silk of Crowley’s hair. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “I didn’t realise it still bothered you. After all this time?”

“Not - not  _ me,” _ Crowley growled. The unease was growing higher now, lapping over the edge of  _ something _ , fizzing on hot rocks below. “You.”

_ “Oh,” _ said Aziraphale. “Oh, I see. Well. It doesn’t really matter, does it?”

Crowley blinked. And blinked again.

“I’m sorry?”

“Well - it’s just - I had to, to get my memories back. There wasn’t much of a decision, really.”

The dam broke. Crowley pushed himself up and off Aziraphale, his hands shaking, breathing coming fast for an entirely different reason than a few minutes ago.

“And so you  _ Fell? _ For what? For  _ me?” _

Aziraphale sat up, his blue-grey eyes still full of innocence, round and shocked and pretty. “Why wouldn’t I?”

Crowley could have screamed. “I’m not - you’re not - that’s - it’s your  _ immortal soul, _ Aziraphale! You can’t go around giving it away willy-nilly!”

Aziraphale was on his feet, now, as was Crowley.  _ “Willy-nilly? _ I was so careful, Crowley, so careful for six thousand years. Don’t you dare -”

“Do you have  _ any idea _ how many demons regretted their Fa -”

“Don’t you turn this into one of your self-indulgent moping sessions,” Aziraphale interrupted. “You’d think you might, in all this time, get it into your stupid head that you’re worth more than whatever some archaic system describes you as.”

“What?” Crowley said stupidly. “But you -”

“I know I’ve been stupid and short-sighted and so terribly worried about all of - oh - Hell knows what. But Crowley, you’ve always been so,” and here Aziraphale made a noise of pure frustration, “so  _ sure _ that you were worthless. And you’re not, and I know I ought to have told you it a thousand times before now, but really, I was so worried of what Hell might do. I don’t know what comes after Falling, my dear, and how could I let you go where I couldn’t follow?”

Crowley blinked. The dam was neither here nor there - it didn’t know what to do with itself. It tentatively crumbled.

“You - what?”

“Really, if it’s just the fact you’re a demon, Crowley, my dear, my love, it’s nothing. It doesn’t mean  _ anything. _ So your wings are black, and you have the most exquisite eyes, and your hair is flushed through with that lovely auburn colour, so - so what?”

Crowley could feel his  _ cheeks  _ flushing through with colour, actually.

“Now, I may not have known that when I made my choice, because  _ someone _ thought I would be mortally offended by the idea of consorting with a demon. But I would stand by it, even if I knew, because I do know, now, Crowley, I have myself back, and can’t you see, that’s what makes everything worth anything?”

Crowley stepped forwards, helplessly drawn, as Aziraphale held out his hands.

“My love for you isn’t about what you are, Crowley, and I know that your love for me isn’t about that, either. Even before, when I said - all those horrible things - they were to keep you safe, you complete  _ idiot. _ There aren’t any sides, really, are there, in love and war? Only people. People, and the love they have for one another, and what lengths they’ll go to to see it through.

“Well, this is mine. This is my love, for you, and there isn’t a length in this universe I wouldn’t go to for you to know that. I would Fall a hundred times over, if only to have you believe that I love you. Truly.”

Aziraphale fell silent, and took Crowley’s hands in his, and Crowley felt tears streaming down his cheeks, could see them mirrored on Aziraphale.

“Huh,” he said. “You know - I - well - I’m not good with words. Talking. Stuff.”

Aziraphale’s mouth wobbled at the edges, whether from crying or to stifle a smile, Crowley didn’t know.

“But,” he went on, determined to make it right, make it better, to show Aziraphale the deepest pit within him, “You’re right. I - I’ve hated myself for the last - well, forever. Because as soon as I Fell, I met you. Angel, I met you, and then I had every reason to want to be back in Heaven. I only wanted to be beside you. Forever.”

“And do you still?” Aziraphale asked, moving closer. “Want to be beside me?”

“Well, I’m here,” Crowley pointed out, and Aziraphale sighed an eternally exasperated sigh and kissed him again.

Crowley, not having much experience with kisses, was rapidly learning. He was learning about all the different types. Before had been a frantic kiss, like a quick drink to take the edge off. It had been everything they needed, to tell each other in an ancient language of  _ how  _ they needed, how they craved. Aziraphale kissed him so slowly now that Crowley felt as if he were being swept away on a river. The earth moved, but in a way that didn’t suggest moving so much as flowing, dragging him ever deeper. The soft slide of Aziraphale’s lips was like nothing Crowley could have ever imagined. It was the gentlest of sins; the lightest, purest blasphemy; the most honoured crime they could have committed. 

The type of kiss, as it tends to, changed. Crowley found himself clutching at Aziraphale’s robes, hissing his name, gasping as Aziraphale’s tongue found its way past his lips. But for all his coming apart, there was such an undercurrent of love in everything that his angel did that he found himself rather warm. Warm, and whole, for the first time in six thousand years.

When Crowley’s legs started to shake, Aziraphale pushed him gently down onto the sand, and bent to kiss his neck, mouthing gently up the sensitive nerves running past Crowley’s jaw. Crowley hooked his legs around Aziraphale, wanting only to bring him closer, to hold him tighter. Aziraphale kissed lower and lower, until his teeth were grazing Crowley’s collarbone, and Crowley’s clothes were starting to get in the way.

Aziraphale looked up at Crowley, then. His storm-blue eyes swirled and pulled, a gentle tug on Crowley’s heart, asking for - if -  _ is this okay? _ Crowley’s hands trembled like butterflies as he raised them to his shirt collar. He undid one button, taking several tries to actually get it out, and Aziraphale kissed the skin it revealed. Crowley let his hands trace the soft curve of Aziraphale’s jaw. He undid another button, and Aziraphale moved lower, employing his deft and eager tongue. Crowley’s breath hitched, but he kept at his work. Another button, and another, another. 

Finally, the shirt was open, and Crowley’s skin could no longer remember existing in any other state than  _ worshipped. _ His chest burned with kisses and licks and surprisingly lovely bites _ . _ Crowley let his hands run through Aziraphale’s soft curls as he worked. Aziraphale experimented with quick flicks of his tongue to Crowley’s nipples, and when Crowley couldn’t help but let out a low groan at that, Aziraphale experimented with his teeth. Crowley felt the pressure go straight to his groin, and tensed his hips,  _ mewling  _ when Aziraphale redoubled his efforts.

“Az - Azira - please - wait, wait…” Crowley pushed Aziraphale’s head away when the pain began to peak over the crest of pleasure, his chest tingling with delight, thoroughly and completely stimulated.

“Are you alright, my love?” Aziraphale’s hand came to Crowley’s cheek then, the slow rub of his thumb gentle and loving.

Crowley smiled and nodded, kissing Aziraphale’s palm. “Perfect. I’m perfect.”

Aziraphale’s eyes crinkled as he smiled, and Crowley couldn’t help but reach out to smooth over his dimples.

“I can’t argue with that,” Aziraphale murmured, and leaned in to kiss Crowley again. Crowley could feel the flush travelling down over his chest, and made the executive decision to disrobe Aziraphale similarly. He let his hands pause in their grasp of the material, giving Aziraphale the conscious choice, the chance to back out.

“Please, my dear,” Aziraphale whispered.

Crowley lifted the fabric up, nearly getting lost in the singed swathes of it, and Aziraphale squirmed in a very undignified manner when the robes were finally lifted over his head. Crowley grinned at his angel’s embarrassment, then remembered just how much more of this particular angel was currently on display, and then blushed. Aziraphale’s pale skin shone faintly in the moonlight, his chest plump and verdant and beautiful, and his thighs - well. His thighs, gorgeous and creamy and thick, were covered with something  _ unspeakable. _

“Before you say anything,” Aziraphale said in a rush, “They’re - well - I - erm. I only wanted… I had this, er, fantasy, and I know it’s probably silly but -”

Crowley looked at the undergarments that were most certainly remnants of the 19th century, and felt his heart swell with more love than he thought ought to be allowed, and he kissed Aziraphale quite firmly.

“Oh,” Aziraphale murmured, and deepened the kiss. Crowley’s hands curled into soft angel, exploring slowly. He stroked and felt and caressed every inch of skin he could reach, Aziraphale’s kissing growing more distracted as he did, slightly sloppy and with breaks for contented sighs. When Crowley moved his hands downwards - slowly, hesitantly, always leaving room for refusal - Aziraphale broke the kiss off, his eyelids fluttering, and leaned his face into Crowley’s neck. 

Crowley was reluctant to stop touching the perfect smoothness of Aziraphale’s skin, but more enthusiastic about the mysterious  _ fantasy _ his angel had been hiding from him. He traced over the tight cotton, feeling the skin sitting tight and tense beneath it, and longed to set Aziraphale free. But he would wait. He could, and he would, and he would get to the bottom of this fantasy.

“You - I - oh, Crowley,” Aziraphale said weakly, his voice muffled with Crowley’s skin. “Would you - unlace me? And touch me, while I’m still wearing, er, these?”

Crowley’s fingers started working amidst their rush of affection, trembling slightly as they worked to unlace the underwear. Aziraphale pressed kisses into his neck and shoulder as he did. After what seemed like both an age and less than a moment, Crowley was finished with the laces, and he pressed a kiss to the side of Aziraphale’s head.

“Are you alright?” he asked. “Can I -?”

Aziraphale nodded shakily against him. Crowley swallowed, and let his hand find its way around Aziraphale’s cock. It was everything and nothing; it meant all the world, but paled in comparison to the feelings blooming deep in Crowley’s heart; Aziraphale  _ whined, _ and Crowley felt a wave of pure giddiness ride through him.

He moved his hand tentatively, sliding up and down. Aziraphale made a little groaning sound.

“Just like that. Could you keep doing that? Please?”

_ As if I could ever deny you anything, angel. _ Crowley moved his hand in languid strokes, again and again, judging his success on the relative volume of Aziraphale’s noises. When he thumbed Aziraphale’s slit, his angel’s whole body shuddered into his, tense, close, trusting. He did it again and again, before resuming his strokes, a little faster now, pulling back to push his forehead against Aziraphale’s. 

“It’s - oh! Don’t stop! Don’t stop! Just there just  _ there  _ \- oh,  _ Crowley -” _

Aziraphale came with his eyes screwed shut and his hips juddering against Crowley. Crowley drank in the sight and feel of him, breathing in the air panting from Aziraphale’s mouth. It tasted like angel and fire and light. It tasted like an old bookshop, and clover in the springtime, and puffy clouds of mist in the Autumn. It tasted so  _ Aziraphale. _

“Oh,” said Aziraphale faintly, opening his eyes again. “Thank you, Crowley. That was rather lovely.”

_ Rather lovely, _ Crowley wanted to mock. But he couldn’t. Not when his face had arranged itself into a sappy smile of adoration. 

“You are, too,” he said instead. “Lovely, that is.”

Aziraphale kissed him again, sweet and soft. He murmured Crowley’s name as he did, right onto his lips, so tender that it was all Crowley had in him to repeat the favour.  _ Aziraphale, _ he pressed into his angel.  _ Angel, _ he kissed.  _ I love you,  _ he said, and Aziraphale repeated it back to him.

“What would you like, then?” Aziraphale asked, pulling back, blue-grey eyes glowing and excited. “Any, er, preferences?”

Crowley, honestly, had never thought about it this way around. Giving? Of course. Of course, because that was what Crowley  _ did _ for his angel. He gave and gave and gave until his whole soul was Aziraphale’s. Receiving?

“I - you don’t have to,” he said awkwardly, feeling his face heat. “No pressure. I’m fine.”

Aziraphale looked down at the bulge in Crowley’s pants. “And if I want to?”

Crowley rolled off Aziraphale, and covered his face with his hands. “Angel, it’s fine. I only want to - to please you.”

Aziraphale rolled onto his side, and hooked a leg over Crowley’s, shuffling forwards until he was a warmth all along Crowley’s side.

“I want to please  _ you, _ ” he insisted. “Please?”

Crowley didn’t remove his hands from his face, but nodded. He could feel his cock leaking with excitement, and God, if Aziraphale was so keen, he could submit to being pleased.

When Aziraphale moved down, though, Crowley was suddenly unsure.

“Um, Aziraphale?” he asked, his voice going high. “What are you doing?”

Aziraphale, now settled comfortably between his legs, looked up, all innocence. “Oh, I’m just - would you rather I used my hands?”

Crowley’s brain ticked that over, and when it refused to parse, he shook his head. “I - no.” He swallowed. “Go ahead.”

When Aziraphale pulled down his pants and his mouth neared Crowley’s cock, his brain parsed exactly what his angel meant to do and promptly melted.

Aziraphale took the head of Crowley’s cock, and did something with his tongue, and then Crowley was falling apart. He trembled with the effort of not squeezing Aziraphale’s head with his thighs, and threaded his hands into Aziraphale’s hair.

Aziraphale bobbed his head up and down, licking trails of flame into Crowley’s desire. He could feel himself burning up from the inside, whatever Aziraphale’s blessed mouth was doing fanning the flames. As Crowley’s desire built and built, so did Aziraphale’s pace, until Crowley couldn’t stop his hips from jerking.

Aziraphale murmured encouragements around his cock, whispered his  _ name _ there, and Crowley whispered  _ Aziraphale  _ back. Then Aziraphale was taking more of his cock than should be possible and  _ fuck, fuck, fuck _ -

Crowley came with Aziraphale’s name sweet on his lips, and his angel’s mouth eagerly sucking down the mess. He fell boneless against the sand in the gentle aftershocks of pleasure, sprawling out in the moonlight. The sand was still warm from the day, but Aziraphale was warmer, and he snuggled into his angel’s chest, tucking himself underneath the offered arm. 

Crowley fell asleep listening to Aziraphale’s firmly beating heart and steady breath.


	27. Aziraphale 14

Crowley’s hair fell down around his face in locks, dark red against the night. Wherever Crowley ended, stars began, sprinkling themselves around his head in a quiet crown. The moon was nearly full, and it beat down upon the night sand, casting a faint glow over Aziraphale’s vision.

He looked into the depths of Crowley’s eyes. They were deep, even though they appeared to be shallow on the surface, rumpled and broken up into little glints of gold. They were deep in the night, deep in their love, deep in the way that they belonged to the soul Crowley. Aziraphale could Fall all over again into those eyes. Maybe he would.

Time had slowed around them - whether of supernatural causes, or just the magic of the night, Aziraphale didn’t know. He didn’t care. He reached through the thick night air as if his hand were travelling through treacle, fingers coming to land on the ridge of Crowley’s cheekbone.

Aziraphale had wondered if he could cut himself on those cheekbones, in another life, not so long ago. The skin was actually rather soft. He let his fingertips paint lines over Crowley’s cheek very softly. The demon leaned his head in just a little. Aziraphale could feel the soft smile beginning underneath his hand.

Crowley’s hand mirrored his, slipping over his cheek. Aziraphale sighed as Crowley’s hand made its way into his hair. He combed delicately through Aziraphale’s curls, his hand shaking slightly, and Aziraphale’s heart felt light with tenderness. He moved his own hand further forwards to stroke the snake tattoo with a thumb, and let his other hand creep up to rest on Crowley’s chest, resting in a rustle of fabric.

Crowley’s smile softened, his eyes growing terribly fond and wet. Aziraphale wondered how many times they might cry tonight, and found that he didn’t really care. What was the point of longing so fervently for six thousand years if you weren’t allowed to have a good cry at the end of it all?

Well. Not the end.

The beginning.

And as Crowley kissed him again, again and again and again, Aziraphale could feel his heart rising like the sun, beaming with waves of rumpled pink and orange, breaking into a new day of light.


	28. Crowley 14

Crowley had never felt so relaxed. Loose, and breezy, and happy. He held Aziraphale’s hand in his as they crossed the desert, and it felt like everything. He was home with his hand here, palm sliding against palm, warm skin pressed together.

Every so often Aziraphale would look over at him and smile, and Crowley’s heart would wobble, and he felt that pull of love again, again, again.

They went back to the camp and ate together. Crowley fed juicy pieces of meat to Aziraphale until he felt guilty about depriving the camp’s resources, and quickly miracled up more food for the humans. Aziraphale licked Crowley’s fingers, and smiled at him. Crowley wasn’t sure he could withstand much more of this.

“Did you finally get together, then?” Amal asked, coming to sit right next to Aziraphale and thoroughly ruining the moment.

Aziraphale nodded enthusiastically.

“Oh, thank fuck,” muttered Takisha. “I was going to have to pay Eliana if it lasted any longer.”

Amal screwed up his nose. “I had to pay her a couple days ago. She thought it’d take months.  _ Years.” _

Crowley was doing his best to avoid all eye contact with everyone. It was embarrassing enough, realizing just how obvious you’d been in hindsight, but when it was  _ humans _ who had to point it out… Well. It just wouldn’t do.

“Shut up,” he muttered, without heat.

Aziraphale smiled soppily at him. “Now,  _ motek _ , don’t take your frustrations out on them.”

Crowley sighed again, for no reason other than Aziraphale’s resulting smile. “Well, I can’t take them out on  _ you.” _

Takisha grumbled about  _ getting a room _ and yanked Amal up from his seat, giving them privacy. Crowley blinked at her fondly, feeling a rush of affection for all living things.

“What are you taking out on me, then?” Aziraphale asked in a low voice, his eyes sparkling.

Crowley had to bite his lip to keep from flirting back. There were more important things to do now, he was beginning to realize.

“The humans,” he said. “We have to keep them safe.”

Aziraphale frowned and nodded. “Well, yes. What of it?”

“Seven years tribulation?”

Aziraphale’s eyes widened in understanding. “Oh. Oh, I’d completely forgotten. Oh,  _ dear.” _

_ Oh, dear _ didn’t begin to cover it in Crowley’s opinion.

“We have to stop it.” He tried to keep his voice steady. “We’ll - Aziraphale - we can’t just go to Heaven.”

Aziraphale looked a little panicked. “But - why not?”

“We can’t live there forever! Demons, remember? And what about - this? The Earth? Humans?” Crowley held his arms out, beseeching.

“Oh, but - just for a bit? We could go to Heaven for a bit?"

"Wha - for what?"

"I have a Plan," said Aziraphale grandly.


	29. Aziraphale 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> _  
I must be strong and carry on  
'Cause I know I don't belong here in heaven  
_

It felt so strange to creep about Heaven like this. Aziraphale obediently kept low to the ground, though, following Crowley’s lead as he crawled through bushes and hurried them across exposed plains. He gave directions as best he could, as best he remembered. It took a few hours, but once again, Aziraphale could sense the presence of a disturbance in the space-time of Heaven.

Crowley screwed up his nose as if he might sneeze. “I think I’m allergic to God,” he muttered. “Come on, then.”

Aziraphale had to admit, it didn’t mix well with his new Hellish tendencies. His stomach felt upset and strange.  _ All out of whack,  _ the humans might have said.

It was easy to find the temple this time. Suspiciously easy. Aziraphale took Crowley’s hand as they approached, and squeezed it tight. Crowley squeezed back.

“Let’s go over what we’re going to ask, again,” Aziraphale said, pulling to a stop. 

“Angel -”

“No, Crowley, this is  _ important. _ We’re going to do it right.”

Crowley rolled his eyes, but didn’t try to pull away.

“We’re going to ask, first of all, for the world’s tribulation to end, or go on indefinitely.”

“Yeah, yeah, and then for angels to stay out of the way and just let humans get on with it, I get it, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale felt the stress climbing and clawing its way up his throat, and he bit his lip. “What if it doesn’t work?”

Crowley sighed, and stepped forwards, pulling Aziraphale into his arms. “We’ll be in this together, angel. Always. And that’s enough. Besides, it’ll definitely work.”

The ground dropped out from around them, or more accurately, the ground stopped existing.

_ Hello again, Aziraphale. _

_ Adam! We were just looking for you, _ Aziraphale said, uncomfortably aware that lying was going to be rather difficult with his internal workings entirely on display.  _ How are you? _

_ The same. Time doesn’t exist here. But you know that, don’t you, Crawly? _

Crow _ ley, _ the demon corrected. How did he manage to sound snarky and sarcastic without air to speak through? Aziraphale loved him so much.

_ Please, please, stop that!  _ Adam’s ethereal communication suddenly seemed panicked and jittery.  _ I’m eleven. That’s  _ gross.

Aziraphale felt his entire being flush with heat, emanating a dull grey light that no-one could see.  _ Sorry. I. Er. Sorry. _

Crowley laughed, and it tasted like oranges.

_ Why are you here?  _ Adam asked.

_ It’s rather a long story, _ Aziraphale began.  _ I trust God has filled you in on the whole Eden business -  _

_ We’re here to ask for the world back, _ Crowley interrupted.  _ It makes no difference to Heaven whether or not it’s destroyed after seven years. If you could just leave all the damned souls on Earth rather than killing them off, that would be - great. Yep. Right. Thanks. _

Time did not exist in this dimension, but somehow Adam took an awfully long time to reply.  _ You want the Earth to live on? _

_ Heaven doesn’t have to do anything, _ Aziraphale said quickly,  _ in fact, it would be rather better if Heaven just - didn’t. Do anything. On Earth, that is.  _

_ All you have to do is leave well alone, _ Crowley confirmed.  _ Sounds easy, right, kid? _

_ I’m  _ not _ a kid, _ Adam said sullenly. The space around him started to look more and more human-shaped.  _ I - look, it’s sort of a big decision, and I don’t think God would be very happy with it. Or me. _

_ No, no, I’m sure she’d be fine with it, _ said Crowley. Aziraphale could taste the lie.

_ Don’t lie to me! People aren’t  _ supposed  _ to lie! _

And then they were back in the physical realm (at least, as physical as Heaven got). The temple formed around them, grand marble pillars and high roof painted with all of God’s favourite scenes from  _ The Sound of Music. _

Crowley looked about as out of sorts as Aziraphale felt. The transition between dimensions was never pleasant at the best of times, but when the Antichrist forcibly transformed anti-space into space around you, it became a curious mix between being thumped on the head and squeezed through a straw.

“Thanks for the warning,” Crowley muttered, waggling his tongue about. “Eurgh.”

“Adults shouldn’t lie,” Adam continued, lifting his chin into the air. He was sitting on a very grand and intricate golden throne. His feet didn’t quite reach the floor. “Lying is  _ bad.” _

Aziraphale sighed. “Please, Adam, we’re trying to save the lives of people on Earth.”

“But why? There’s not many of them left, is there?”

Crowley let out a choked sound. Aziraphale moved to his side and rubbed his back soothingly.

“No. But there’s no point in killing  _ more,” _ Aziraphale explained.

“You would need to trade something,” Adam said, raising a hand loftily. “Favours require favours.”

_ He’s been talking to God, _ Aziraphale realized dully.  _ An eye for an eye… _

“What would you require?” Crowley asked casually. “Could get you some souvenirs, if you liked. Maybe some, uh, human friends? Or - or some nice books?”

“I’m  _ not _ a child,” Adam said again. “You can’t pawn me off with that rubbish.”

“Crowley used to make very nice stars,” said Aziraphale.

“Yeah!” Crowley agreed, his eyes lighting up. “I’ll whip you up a few, if you’d like. Whatever shape you want.”

But Adam had a dreamy look on his face, and a shine in his eyes. “Immortality for immortality,” he murmured. “That’s fair, isn’t it?”

Aziraphale started to think that he wasn’t going to like this deal very much.

“What do you mean?” Crowley asked.

“Your immortality for the Earth’s.”

Aziraphale froze. “No. No. Crowley, you can’t.”

Crowley turned to him. “Angel, I -”

“I’ll do it,” Aziraphale said, stepping forwards, “please, take my immortality. Not his. Please.”

Crowley sputtered and grabbed his arm. “Angel, I am  _ not _ living without you!”

“Neither am I!” cried Aziraphale, feeling as if one of his feet had fallen straight through the floor and all the way down to Earth. “Crowley, let’s not  _ rush  _ this, please, I can’t - I can’t -”

Adam was looking bored, and he had his hand raised, fingers poised to snap. “Who will it be, then? Hurry up.”

Anxiety stoppered Aziraphale’s throat, and he turned to Crowley silently. Crowley took his hands, and looked at him, and seemed to be having similar word problems.

“I - I - argh - angel, I’ll go. I’ll do it.”

Aziraphale dug his hands in. “I won’t let you.”

“Choose, or I will,” said Adam.

Aziraphale was vaguely aware that he was leaving angry red dents in Crowley’s arm from clutching it too tight. The urge to pull Crowley close swept through him, and he pulled the demon in, pushing their foreheads together, tasting the same air.

Crowley’s eyes softened and became very calm. “Both of us. It’ll be both of us.”

“Both - of us?” Aziraphale bit his lip, and Crowley brought a hand to his face to heal the minute damage.

“We’ll do it together. Together, or not at all.”

Aziraphale nodded shakily, and Crowley kissed him.

“Gross. Bye,” said Adam, and snapped his fingers.


	30. Crowley 15

They didn’t Fall. Not this time.

Crowley and Aziraphale sauntered vaguely down the modest wooden spiral staircase Adam had fashioned for them. Even with the railing, they had to stop several times to catch their breath.

Crowley and Aziraphale were, it turned out, extremely unfit.

“You’d think,” Aziraphale puffed, “that you’d be all - all sinewy under there. Corded muscle. Er.” 

Crowley shot him an incredulous look.  _ “Corded muscle?” _

“Well, I can dream,” Aziraphale huffed.

“Terribly sorry to disappoint,” Crowley grinned. _ “Corded muscle…” _

They reached the bottom of the stairs, and collapsed onto the sand, red and panting.

“How the  _ fuck _ did humans do this for so long without complaining?” Crowley asked.

Aziraphale had his eyes closed, his arms and legs spread out to maximise cooling. “I have no clue, my dear.”

Being mortal felt at once how Crowley expected and nothing like what he’d thought. There was a lot more pain. He could feel every joint working so hard, his heart thumping in his ears, his back screaming curses at him, all just to keep him upright. But on the other hand, there was - something else. Crowley looked out around the desert, and saw opportunity. He saw endless sand, and yet there was hope, burning brighter within him than it ever had.

He turned to Aziraphale to see his angel watching him with soft blue-grey eyes. The skin at his eyes crinkled, just like always. Crowley reached out to touch it. Aziraphale leaned into his touch, and - that was new. 

Touching Aziraphale last night had been - it had been everything. Light and hope and stars and beauty. Now, it felt like everything in his being was narrowed down to that point of contact. Everything in his life had led up to this moment. Right here, right now, this contact, this connection was who he was always meant to be.

“Oh, love,” Aziraphale breathed, “I think we’ve been missing out.”

“On the wholly painful experience of mortality?”

“Quite.” 

Crowley flexed his fingers experimentally. “Painful, but…”

“It’s better, isn’t it?” Aziraphale said. “I mean, before was alright, but I’m just starting to realize how - how flat it all was.”

Crowley ran his hands down Aziraphale’s arms, taking his angel’s hands. The feeling aligned perfectly with his being; it was bringing together everything, all his tiny loose parts.

“Now,” Aziraphale went on, swinging their hands, “there’s - hills, and things.”

Crowley tried to stop his sappy smile and entirely failed. “What is it with you and hills, angel?”

Aziraphale shrugged. “Painful to climb, but lovely to stand on top of. My point is, I look out at this world, now, and I see… I don’t know. Nothing. Nothing, but everything. Don’t you feel it?”

Crowley nodded. “Humans were always the most amazing creatures.”

“And now we get to be, too,” Aziraphale said. “Just for a little while, anyway.”

Aziraphale’s blue-grey eyes found Crowley’s human amber ones. The transition of mortality hung above them both now. A rolling ball, ready to go. Already rolling. Just gaining momentum, going, going, always going to reach the bottom.

“It’ll be alright, won’t it?” Crowley asked. He found that he meant it.

Aziraphale pursed his lips in thought. “Do you know,” he said after a while, “I think it will. The Earth is safe, and that’s the important thing. Once we’re gone, it’ll just - keep going. Forever.”

“Oh, I don’t know about  _ forever,” _ Crowley said. “The Sun’ll expand sometime.”

Aziraphale laughed. “I imagine humanity will have far outstripped the Earth by then.”

“We better get cracking with it, then,” Crowley said.

“What? Outstripping the Earth?”

“You heard me, angel.” There were only so many new sensations Crowley could take on at one time. Touching Aziraphale in a human body. The ever-present uncertainty of mortality. And now - the urge to  _ do _ something almost overwhelmed him. An itch to get moving, get going, make progress, make it  _ better. _

“We should go back to camp,” Aziraphale said, mirroring Crowley’s train of thought. “Help them rebuild. Maybe we could explore a bit, too, see if there are any other people nearby. It’ll be easier, the larger our group is.”

Crowley smiled, though it wasn’t funny. Well. It was. “You sound just like some young upstart vying for mayor.”

_ “Mayor? _ Oh my,” Aziraphale said, blushing. “No, I don’t think I could do that.”

Crowley nudged him with an elbow. “You could.”

“No,” Aziraphale said more firmly. “I actually think I’d quite like to write books.”

Crowley smiled so wide his cheeks hurt, and felt the puzzle pieces, one by one, slotting into place. “Of course you would.”

“And you, my love?” Aziraphale’s eyes were full of promise and hope when they met his. “What would you like to do?”

Crowley thought about it. He looked around the desert. It was dry and near-lifeless, but -

“I’d like to start a garden,” he said.

Aziraphale smiled like he’d always been destined to smile in this exact moment. And perhaps he had.

“I love you.”

“I love you too,” Crowley said eagerly, and leaned forwards to kiss Aziraphale. His lips were salty with sweat and gritty with the sand blowing around. And it was perfect.

“Well. Shall we, then?” Aziraphale pulled away but kept a firm grasp on his hand. 

It was a pity they didn’t have a flaming sword, but then again, there weren’t any lions here. Crowley held fast to Aziraphale’s hand instead, and together they walked forwards into their newest, happiest, and last life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, thank you, thank you for reading. If you enjoyed, please leave kudos and/or comments, they really do mean the world to me. Again, thank you to everyone who made this possible: tomatopudding, handlebarstiedtothestars, emptymasks, littlelynn, and of course my lovely artist yngwer. And thank YOU, dear readers, for actually reading this. I love you all <3 <3 <3
> 
> Come yell at my [tumblr](https://gay-star-knight.tumblr.com/)!


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